


Saint Seiya: Snapshots

by ingenious_spark



Series: Saint Seiya prompts & short fic [14]
Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢 Legend of Sanctuary | Saint Seiya: Legend of Sanctuary (2014), 聖闘士星矢: 冥王神話 | Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas, 聖闘士星矢: 黄金魂 | Saint Seiya: Soul of Gold
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Babies, Canon Compliant, Catharsis, Character Development, Depression, Domestic, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Festivals, First Kiss, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Greek Polytheism, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Attempted Suicide, Introspection, Kid Fic, Kissing, Light Femdom, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Marriage Proposal, Minor Injuries, Multi, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pregnancy, Sickfic, Unplanned Pregnancy, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2018-11-28 11:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 63
Words: 30,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/ingenious_spark
Summary: Saint Seiya prompt drabbles from my Tumblr, oopsbirdficced, all from lists of phrases.Your mileage may vary! Friendship to romance to smut, these drabbles cover a wide spectrum.





	1. Aquarius Dégel/Scorpio Kardia: "This is going to hurt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambiguous canon time period. Minor training accident, hurt/comfort.

Dégel pulled in quick, shallow breaths, stumbling towards Sanctuary’s medical center, cradling his arm close to his body. Kardia trailed after him, eyes wide and face panicky.

“I’ve killed you,” he moaned softly. “You’re gonna die.” Dégel shot the Scorpio a slightly pained look.

“I’m not going to die from a dislocated shoulder. I just would like someone trained to pop it back in, rather than doing it myself like Manigoldo was advocating.” He replied, sighing heavily. Kardia moaned softly in distress, and Dégel gently bumped his hip with his own. “Training accidents happen, Kardia, it’s not the end of the world. Look, here we are.” They entered the building and were promptly ushered into an examination room. The nurse looked him over, and smiled at Kardia, who was clearly more distressed than Dégel.

“All right, young Aquarius, this is going to hurt. On the count of three?” He said briskly, and Dégel nodded. “One,” he counted, and popped it back into place Dégel let out a soft, pained noise, and Kardia shrieked like it was him in pain. The nurse laughed. “Hurts worse on three, trust me. Drink some willowbark tea when it hurts, and put a cold compress on it. You’re an ice-user, right? Wrap some ice in a towel and put it on there, and don’t use that arm for anything too intensive for a week. You’ll be fine.” He told Dégel, and left. Dégel wiped some sweat from his brow, and glanced over at Kardia.

“See? I’m fine,” he said gently. Kardia’s mouth formed an unhappy little moue, and he leaned forward, placing his hand on Dégel’s uninjured shoulder. He pressed a feather light kiss to Dégel’s injury, and the Aquarius flushed, heart skipping a beat.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” Kardia murmured. “I would fight to world to keep you safe.”


	2. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo: "Will I ever see you again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambiguous canon time period. And angst.

It’s a stolen moment. They don’t have much time. Milo stares at Camus, beaten up and battered in that glimmering dark armor and a million questions are caught in his throat. Camus catches his eyes and he can’t look away.

“Camus,” he mutters, soft and broken. Camus smiles, a tiny, sweet expression that Milo has seen all-too-rarely from his stoic friend and secret love.

“Milo,” he says, and if he weren’t so battered, the way he walks over would be a stride, or maybe a sashay. Camus has never walked with that much confidence, and it confuses Milo, because Milo has always been the confident one, and Camus the shy. To have the tables turned like this… well, Milo is out of his depth. Camus reaches out, and Milo opens his arms, expecting a normal embrace. Camus leans into him, slipping his arms around his neck. Milo’s arms settle around his waist, just a little away from those tempting curvy hips, but just as he’s about to rest his head against the redhead’s shoulder, Camus pushes up and kisses him. Tears prick at his eyes, and he presses into it, tangling their tongues in an ancient dance. This is the first kiss they’ve shared - both of them thought, maybe, that they had more time. They should have had more time, they’re only twenty. The threatening tears spill from his eyes at the injustice of it.

They’re both breathless when they break the kiss, and Camus gently wipes the tears from Milo’s face with chilly fingers. Milo swallows thickly.

“Will I ever see you again?” He manages to say.

“Sooner than I’d like, I think,” Camus whispers, and the weight of war is heavy upon them. Milo is likely to die, and that is the only way they’ll be together now. Unshed tears gleam in Camus’s eyes, and Milo kisses him again, licking into his mouth and dominating the lithe redhead, who moans sweetly into his mouth before pushing him away.

“I have to go,” he gasps, regretful.

“I know,” Milo chokes, and lets him walk away.


	3. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo: "Could you be happy, here, with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit sexual content. Ambiguous canon time period, in Siberia. Russian diminutives.

Milo is sort of miserable. It’s cold in Siberia, and as much as he loves Camus, he hates it here. He’s bundled up in a sweater and blankets in front of the fire while Camus chops more firewood, and Hyôga is in town with Camus’s sled dog team. He’s going to stay overnight at Camus’s great-aunt’s house in town.

The door opens for a moment, but it’s enough that Milo shrinks into his wool cocoon and whines. Camus drops his armload of wood by the fire and smiles down at him, cheeks red from the cold. Milo smiles wanly up at him.

“You know, you didn’t have to come here, Milo,” he says softly, stripping out of his overlayers and draping them over a chair. Down to sweatpants and a soft blue sweater, he’s gorgeous, and Milo opens one side of his cocoon, hopefully. Camus obliges, curling up with him, and Milo shivers a bit.

“I wanted to be with you for my birthday. I’ve finally caught up to you again,” he pouts at Camus. He’s turning nineteen in three days.

“But wouldn’t you rather be warm? I know you don’t like it here.” He presses, gently, cupping Milo’s cheek with a chilly hand. A shiver races down Milo’s spine and he smiles tenderly at Camus. He leans in, heart pounding, hoping he hasn’t read the situation wrong. He’s wanted to kiss Camus since they were sixteen.

“I’d rather be happy than warm,” he breathes, before sealing his words with a kiss. The world falls away, narrowing down to Camus’s mouth, sweet and receptive. Milo dares to deepen the kiss, his arms slipping around Camus’s neck, his body shifting, settling into the Aquarius’s lap. Someone is moaning, or maybe they both are. They break for air, gasping, and Camus leans their foreheads together.

“Could you be happy, here, with me?” He breathes, and Milo rolls his hips, making them both moan softly.

“Gladly, Camus, gods,” he moans, and they both fumble with their pants, shoving them down enough to pull themselves out. God hormones are awful, but amazing, and that’s Milo’s last coherent thought for a while as Camus wraps a hand around them both and strokes.

“Misha,” Camus breathes, using the Russian nickname he’d given Milo when they were kids, and he shivers at the soft reverence in Camus’s tone.

“Camus, please,” he chokes, hips jerking helplessly into Camus’s grasp. Moments later he’s spilling, head thrown back and Camus bites gently at the long line of his throat as he comes too, and they rest, shivering, in each other’s arms.


	4. Behemoth Violate/Garuda Aiacos: "Keep your eyes on me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for explicit sexual content, alcohol mention, and questionably legal cage fighting. Ambiguous modern AU, no powers.

"Keep your eyes on me,” Violate mutters through gritted teeth. She’s covered in sweat and grime and blood, eyes stinging and breath coming in ragged gulps. Aiacos is watching, there in the audience, and he’s smiling faintly. She re-wraps her knuckles and gulps down some water, jamming her bite guard back in, before climbing back up the cage to face her next opponent.

The fight is glorious. She’s bleeding and her nose is definitely bruised, and she is victorious. There’s a brief hush of silence- she’s the newcomer, they hadn’t expected her to fight her way through everyone they threw at her in this dingy back alley bar, questionably-legal cage fighting central. Aiacos starts the clapping, and soon the entire bar is in an uproar.

Violate doesn’t care. All she cares about is the rush of adrenaline, and Aiacos’s gorgeous, vicious smile as he hands her a beer.

He keeps his eyes on her.

The beer gone, along with another glass of water, and they’re headed home to their small but homey apartment, the tension between them crackling deliciously. Violate heads straight for the bathroom, stripping as she goes. Unwinding her hair is more of a challenge, braiding and wrapped into a bun that had gotten her sneered at by several of her opponents before she beat them into the dust. Soon thought it falls as a deep black curtain to her ass, and she steps in the shower. Aiacos watches her quickly wash, almost lazily stripping off his clothes, folding them and putting them in a neat pile on the counter. He rolls on a condom before lazily fucking his fist, and she rubs her clit as she washes.

They barely wait for her to dry off. Her hair is still dripping on the bedsheets when she tosses her towel over them and pushes Aiacos down atop it. She strokes his cock briefly, teasingly, before straddling his head, lowering herself to his mouth. He brings her off eagerly with clever fingers and tongue, and she slides down his body, licking her essence from his face, kissing him brutally. She grasps his cock and rubs it teasingly against her dripping slit, lubing him up.

“Please, Violate,” he gasps, ragged and wanting, and she finally sinks down onto him. He moans, grabbing her hips, and they both set an almost punishing pace. He thumbs her clit, and she comes, tightening her muscles around him. He slams into her and comes, shivering beneath her.

Violate lets him catch his breath, disposing of the used condom for him, and when he’s recovered he rolls her over onto her back and wastes no time in fucking her with three fingers. He bites and suckles at her breasts, and she clutches and pulls at his hair, praise and profanity spilling from her mouth. He coaxes two more orgasms out of her before she slumps, shuddering against the pillows, and Aiacos licks his fingers with a smirk.

“Oh shut up.” She smiles up at him lazily, and tugs him down to curl up at her side, and he chuckles softly.

“I said nothing,” he says smugly, a warm, possessive arm around her waist.

“You thought it very hard, my love.” he replies dryly. “Yes, this was a great idea, and yes, we will be doing it again. Happy?”

“Immensely,” he promises.


	5. Aquarius Dégel/Scorpio Kardia: "Let's do something crazy!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambiguous modern AU. Spontaneous Kardia is spontaneous.

“Let's do something crazy!” Kardia said suddenly. Dégel looked up from the book he'd been reading to him, slid a bookmark between the pages, and set it aside.

“Like what? You're still recovering, Kardia,” Dégel said, soft and calm and reasonable. Kardia pouted. He'd been discharged from the hospital two days ago, and Dégel was almost tyrannical about enforcing his recovery.

“I can only play so many video games and listen to you read so much, Dégel, I'm going stir crazy!” He sighed melodramatically. “I need to get out of the house.” He admitted, and Dégel relented, letting him get up and dressed. Really, he was doing great, Dégel was just being a worrywart. He tangled their fingers together, glad to be out of the hospital, with the sun warm on his skin.

“Here we are, outside of the house. What crazy thing did you want to do? I have to vet it first,” Dégel said, humor lighting his eyes and tucked in the corners of his mouth. Kardia couldn't help but kiss that adorable smile.

“Hey Dégel, would you marry me?” He blurted out, breath still warming Dégel’s mouth. He bit his lip, worried suddenly. “I mean, you wanted to know what crazy thing I wanted to do, and I want to marry you.” He says more firmly. Dégel leaned forward and kissed the breath from him before he could ramble nervously any more.

“But that's not a crazy thing at all. And that is one hundred percent fretful boyfriend approved,” Dégel tells him when they come up for air. Then he smirked. “Which means you still have one crazy thing left to do today.”

“How about roller skating?” Kardia asked with a shit-eating grin, knowing the answer already.

“Don't push your luck, my love. Lunch and a movie?” Dégel countered.

“Something with lots of explosions.” Kardia requested.

"I'm sure we can find something to that effect,” Dégel assured him, and set out.


	6. Pisces Aphrodite/Cancer Deathmask: "If you had asked me to stay, I would've."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another ambiguous modern AU. Deathmask is Wiccan and doesn't murder people. Aphrodite is a tall beautiful model, and Deathmask is the angriest short dude, because I can. Also I love Misty, don't be mad.

Aphrodite stormed into the apartment in a fit of pique. Deathmask looked up, sighing heavily and putting his book down, pulling off his reading glasses.

“Where were you! You just left me there at the party! You _ditched_ me!” Aphrodite hissed. Deathmask rolled his eyes.

“You were fine. Besides, that party really wasn't my scene. I half expected someone to pull out makeup they were selling us all or something.” Deathmask shrugged. Aphrodite made a soft, incoherent noise of rage.

“We can't all have parties in the middle of the woods with dead things, bonfires, and heathen ritualistic dancing!” He cried, truly at the end of his tether. Deathmask frowned- something about the way Aphrodite said it rubbed him the wrong way.

“You went to one of my celebrations once, ‘Dite. You didn't even stay for the tarot readings, and that was the part I thought you'd like. Why should I stay at one of your boring house parties when you can't stay at one of my Sabbats?” He challenged coldly. Aphrodite had no reply to that, face going cold and still. “Besides, you were having fun with that awkward leggy guy, weren't you?” He sneered derisively. “Shura or whatever. The one whose sister dragged him there. Besides, that Misty guy called me a rat, and I don't have time for that shit.” Deathmask shrugged, faux-nonchalant. His appearance was a bit of a touchy subject, albinism was often seen as just something that happened in books and movies, not in real life. Aphrodite looked briefly livid on his behalf.

“That jealous little _lizard_!” Aphrodite hissed, before visibly composing himself. “Look, I didn't stay at your Sabbat because that one guy, I think his name was Alberich? He was… making advances, and it was making me uncomfortable. I should have told you.” Aphrodite admitted, and it was Deathmask’s turn to see red.

“That conniving little dick,” he breathed, grabbing his phone and sending a fast, angry series of texts to Hilda. Aphrodite flushed slightly. “Don’t worry, babe, he's never coming to another Sabbat again.” He said, smiling vicious and victorious. He showed Aphrodite his phone thoughtlessly, forgetting that Hilda had referred to his roommate as his ‘pretty boyfriend’ before promising to go with Thor and have a ‘talk’ with Alberich. Aphrodite actually blushed.

“If you had asked me to stay, I would've, Deathmask.” He said softly, and Deathmask flushed at the sudden intimacy of his tone. “I was having fun, up until that point, even if I didn't know what I was doing.”

“Hey, I'm sorry, ‘Dite. I should have stuck closer to you, made sure you were really okay and having fun.” Deathmask muttered, rubbing the back of his head. Aphrodite stepped closer, and how the hell did Deathmask always forget that the Swede was taller than him? “‘Dite?” He asked softly. Aphrodite smiled, tipping his head up and kissing him. Deathmask thought his heart might beat straight out of his chest.

"You're remarkably sweet when you want to be, Deathmask,” Aphrodite murmured, and he flushed brightly.


	7. Aries Shion/Pisces Albafica: "You're too good for this world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some sads, and some personal headcanons about poison blood.

Shion was staring again. Albafica was getting a touch nervous under his almost dreamy regard. He was just working on the vegetable patch at Pisces, Master Sage had finally convinced him to live in the Palace full time, instead of Master Lugonis’s mountain cottage. Well, convinced… more that he had ordered all his Gold Saints back to Sanctuary in preparation for the Holy War, save those out on missions.

The Pisces gardens were in pitiful shape, even after he'd renewed the rose garden, leaving the flowers as tight-furled green buds, poison contained so that others could come and go to the Palace of the Grand Master freely. Shion had taken to following him about, and he was so very kind and lovely that Albafica was having intense difficulty focusing. 

He finally sat back on his heels, glancing over at Shion, who offered him a glass of juice. The glass of juice Shion had already been drinking of. He frowned reprovingly.

“You shouldn't, unless you're done with it.” He told Shion, slightly cross. Shion shrugged, and Albafica took the glass from the younger teenager. He drank deeply, sighing and setting the glass on the ground, a mouthful left. Shion snatched it up, and Albafica watched in mute horror as he fitted his mouth where Albafica’s had been, and finished the sweet liquid.

“What did you just do?” He asked in quiet horror. Shion smiled at him warmly.

“Proving a point.” Shion said, and reached out, clasping Albafica’s cheeks in warm hands. Albafica flinched, staring up at him with wide eyes, trying to see any effects of his poison. “I've been thinking, since we spoke last. The poison is only in your blood, Alba. It doesn't seep out of your skin, or collect in your saliva. So why do you fear touch?” Albafica blinked, trying to make sense of the words, and tears spilled from his eyes.

“I don't-” he choked, and then took a deep, shuddering breath. Trembling, dirt-streaked hands came up to cup over Shion’s. “Because I killed him. My master- my  _ father _ . I killed him slowly, by inches, by touch.” His voice rasped in his throat, and speaking the words was somehow the most painful thing he'd ever done. Shion’s arms came around him in a tight embrace, and Albafica shivered and wept.

“Sweet Albafica, you're too good for this world,” Shion murmured, and held him as he cried, the way no one had held him since Lugonis’s death.


	8. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo (LoS): "You make me feel invincible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yo, didja know that Legend of Sanctuary puts Milo and Camus in their thirties? Imagine this scene happens in their mid twenties.

Milo growls softly when she sees him. Camus hesitates, unsure of his welcome.

“If you've come bearing chocolate, bananas covered in chocolate, or pesto pasta with blue cheese, you can come in,” she growls, and he vanishes again. Milo groans softly, shifting and stuffing a pillow under her back. This entire situation sucks. It's hot as hell, she's down to her underwear and a bra, and everything hurts. It's nearly intolerable. She glances down at the book she'd been attempting to read, and sighs. Now she wishes she hadn't sent him away. She tries to get comfortable, pulling her short, sweaty red hair away from her neck, fanning herself lazily with a paper fan.

She's worked herself into a light doze, when someone sits quietly at the side of the bed. The chill aura tips her off, and something bumps against her mouth. She opens it without opening her eyes, and Camus is a fucking godsend. He's made her frozen chocolate covered banana slices.

“I love you,” she breathes, and he chuckles quietly. 

“The situation you're in is my fault, so I have to take care of you. I can make you the pasta for supper, all right?” He says softly, continuing to slowly feed her.

“Not so much your fault as your responsibility. Mine too,” she yawned, hand stroking her stomach. “Birth control fails sometimes. It's not the end of the world, though I do wish you hadn't knocked me up so that I'd be in my third trimester in the middle of summer,” she groans, mapping out the huge curve of her pregnant belly. She's due soon, and Camus is stupidly excited in his own reserved way. Camus’s cold hands touch her belly, and she cracks her eyes open to watch him. He looks reverent, worshipful. He talks to their baby sometimes, when he thinks she's asleep. It's ridiculous and adorable.

“You're so amazing, Milo,” he says, in that ever-so-slightly breathless, broken, wondering way of his. “You're making an entire human being in your body.” Milo grins.

“Just wait until the baby has to come out. Fun for the whole family.” She says wryly. He blanches slightly, because when they had talked about whether or not she would keep the baby, she had warned him that she expected him to be there the entire pregnancy, including the birth, and gone into graphic detail about it.

“I don't know how you do it,” he says softly, smiling as the baby kicks his hand. She winces, hoping the little one isn't about to start using her bladder as a springboard again, or whatever the hell the kid’s been doing.

“Hey, you make me feel invincible.” she says warmly, when the baby settles again. “I wouldn't put up with this if I didn't want to.” Camus smiles, small and sweet, and kisses her, gentle and reverent.

Yeah, this kid's gonna be spoiled with Camus as their father.


	9. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo: “Don't underestimate what a person can do to protect those they care about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all, if you send me a prompt on tumblr, please remember that I refuse to do incest, dubcon, noncon, and underage. Underage includes shipping someone under the age of eighteen with someone twenty and over in my context.

Milo crouched in the snow, exhausted and wounded, breath rattling in his lungs, staring at Camus in bewildered, angry grief. His eyes flicked to the God Warrior standing by his side, looking incredibly, punchably smug.

Had he brainwashed Milo’s boyfriend? What in the name of Hades was going on here? Why the everloving  _ fuck _ would Camus betray him like this? What was the God Warrior holding over his head, that he stood with him, looking as calm as a frozen lake? There had to be something.

He lost the fight and nearly lost his life. Saved by  _ Saga _ , of all people. That God Warrior had been awfully careless with Camus’s safety as well, and that rankled. Then Saga had the gall to send him away. He was weak, he hurt all over. He had to keep going, though. He had to make sure Camus was all right. He breathed in air that felt like cold knives in his lungs and gritted his teeth. He felt almost helpless, and from that helplessness anger was brewing. 

“Don't underestimate what a person can do to protect those they care about,” he spat at the image of the smug redheaded God Warrior in his mind’s eye. “I will come for Camus, and you will pay for whatever you did to him.” 

He touched his mouth, remembering their last kiss. The morning of Camus’s death, the day of the young Bronze Saints’ brave but ill-advised assault on Sanctuary, they'd woken tangled up together. Milo had given him a kiss, and that had led to more than a kiss, before they stumbled out of bed and Milo had made his culinarily inept boyfriend breakfast.

He'd thought they would have more time. He'd thought he would have plenty of time to say the words that had been trapped in his throat by uncertainty.

“I love you, Camus. I swear I'll free you,” he breathed, breath puffing before him in a cold white cloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Milo, it wasn't brainwashing, it was gaslighting, which is even worse. Because if you watch the interactions between Camus and Surt, that is kind of heavy handed gaslighting tailored to Camus’s innate sense of responsibility and guilt complex.


	10. Aries Mû/Virgo Shaka: “No one will ever believe us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm dropping you in medias res because idk what dry-ass shitty joke Shaka just made, lol.

Mû is giggling for all he's worth, hands clutching his ribs and eyes beginning to tear up with the force of his mirth. Shaka smirks from across the table, sipping languidly on a cup of tea. Mû finally manages to collect himself, wiping his eyes and sipping his own tea.

“Wow, I'm not sure why that was actually so funny…” he said, an occasional giggle still escaping him. Shaka smiles for a second before arching an eyebrow.

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. I am a paragon of humor.” He says haughtily. Mû giggles again.

“You used to be untouchable, until those Bronzes happened,” he mentions. “Like you'd locked yourself in a marble tower in your own mind. The change is really nice.” Mû smiles, a touch shy. Shaka looks down, a touch guilty.

“I'm sorry. That's… it's true. But those Bronze Saints showed me a truth or two about myself, my attitude, and I've been trying to work on it. I don't want to be so haughty, or untouchable. I know now that I'm fallible, that I was self-absorbed and arrogant.” Shaka shrugs elegantly. “I'm human. I think I let some things that were being said around here get to my head.” He looks down at his tea, ashamed. A slender hand touches his, and he glances up. Mû has scooted closer, and is regarding him with a tender expression. 

“I think they taught us all a valuable lesson,” he replies. “We're supposed to be humanity's protectors, and we're put on such lofty pedestals, that maybe we all thought, somewhere in our hearts, that everything said about us was true. You're not alone.” He smiles, hand coming up to lightly touch Shaka’s cheek. “That's what they taught me: that I'm not alone. That I can ask for help, for companionship and compassion.” Shaka returns the smile, soft and a little hesitant. 

There is something hanging in the air between them, something he has no name for. It lingers in the curve of Mû’s smile, the fall of soft white hair, the happy folds of his soft gray eyes. Something about Mû leaves him feeling strangely breathless, anticipatory. Mû’s hand on his cheek firms, and suddenly he's leaning forward, slanting his warm mouth over Shaka’s. Shaka presses into it, firm but a touch uncertain. They draw apart slowly, and Mû giggles again at the vague, confused expression on Shaka’s face.

“Was that your first kiss?” Mû asks, whispering for some reason. Shaka nods, a little dumbfounded. Mû smiles.

“Nobody's going to believe me!” he giggles, and Shaka us the one to initiate the kiss this time.

“No one will ever believe us.” He agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mû is a tiny cute bean.
> 
> Shaka suffers from acute character development.


	11. Aries Mû/Gemini Saga: “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m going to take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in some AU where Saga doesn't do the thing, isn't evil or possessed or whatever your interpretation. Shion dies of old age. The holy war is delayed a few years. Aiolos is probably grand master.

Mû is devastated. He's been crying so much he feels like he'll never stop. He knew it was coming, but that doesn't make it easier. His mentor, surrogate father, really, is dead. Peacefully, at more than an advanced age, two hundred and fifty, or thereabouts. Mû supposes that's supposed to console him, but he's having trouble doing even menial tasks like making tea without remembering Shion and bursting into a fit of tears. At this rate he's going to be consigned to Medical with dehydration. He supposes it's a small comfort to know that Aiolos is caring for Kiki while he works through his grief, but instead it makes him feel even more pathetic. He's a grown man, nearly twenty-two, and he can't stop crying.

A psychic door knock sounds, and Mû lets the door of the Aries Palace living quarters creak open without bothering to check who it is. He's hunched over a trio of teacups on the counter, the kettle wailing on the stove, tears splashing against the heavy ceramic. He'd decided to make some tea, and automatically gotten down three cups, one for him, Kiki, and Shion.

Someone turns the stove off and moves the kettle. Warm hands and strong arms turn him around, folding him to a strong chest, and he falls into the embrace, sobbing soft and wretchedly. At some point the person picks him up and moves them both to a soft squashy chair, Mû curled up in their lap.

When he's finally collected himself, he looks up through wet, clumped eyelashes, to find his comforter is Saga. The tall blond man smiles gently down at him, cupping his cheek in one big hand.

“I'd ask how you were doing, but I think I know the answer.” He says, warm and soft and deep, and Mû shivers a bit. His crush on the Gemini Saint has never quite gone away, and to find that he was the one to hold Mû as he cried like a child is a touch embarrassing. 

“I'm sorry,” he says in a cracked, dry whisper. 

“None of that, Mû. I'm happy I could give you comfort.” He shushes, handing Mû some tissues and considerately looking away as Mû mops his face and blows his nose. Feeling a touch better, Mû pulls himself to his feet, tossing the tissues out and going to pour himself some cold water. Saga follows him, a gentle, large shadow.

“Can I get you some tea?” Mû asks, remembering his manners. Saga shakes his head with a soft smile. 

“I'm fine. I came here to check on you,” he reminds Mû gently, and Mû tries out a slightly wobbly smile. Saga cups his cheek again, and stoops to kiss his other cheek. Mû turns his head into the gesture, and their lips touch, soft and fragile. Saga lingers for a moment, then pulls away, better than what Mû had feared. He looks down at him, concerned.

“A-are you sure? I don't want to take advantage,” he murmurs, and Mû sets his glass on the counter before reaching up and dragging the tall blond into a fierce kiss.

“There, now it's not taking advantage. Its reciprocating,” he mutters against Saga’s mouth. Saga groans lowly, pressing back against him and kissing him tenderly and openly.

“I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm going to take care of you,” the Gemini Saint gasps against his lips, and Mû nods.

“You already are, silly.”


	12. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo (LoS): "I'm here for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, LoS isn't something I've ever really written for, and I'm having some trouble with it, so you get a continuation of the previous snippet.
> 
> I'm doing my best here. /shrugs

Milo was just about tearing her hair out. Their baby, little Chrysanthi, was a handful, now that she was walking and talking and getting into everything. She was an insatiably curious child, where she had been a relatively calm and quiet baby. Milo should have known her beautiful little demonspawn was just biding her time.

She was a pretty little child. All chubby and sweet with fluffy red hair like hers. She smiled absently at the ceiling from where she was lying flat on her back on the living room floor. A chuckle came from the door, accompanied by baby babble, and she sat up, eyes lighting up. Camus had been away for a mission, and little Chrysanthi, daddy's girl that she was, had been acting out because she missed him and didn't understand why he was gone. It was rare for either of them to take long missions with her to take care of, and Milo didn't blame her cute little blossom in the slightest. 

“Camus, welcome home,” she said with a warm smile, well aware she looked a mess, in one of his shirts that had baby stains they couldn't get out, and a pair of shorts, her hair in utter disarray. She really didn't care, though, not when her baby was happy again, grabbing Camus’s nose and yanking on his long hair.

“I'm home,” he greeted, sitting down on the floor with her and setting Chrysanthi in his lap. She curled into his side, and he wrapped an arm around her. She smoothed down Chysanthi’s soft, flyaway hair and sighed contentedly, breathing in the scent of mint and freshwater that lingered around him, the scent of his powers.

“Chrysanthi missed you. She's been running mama ragged,” the last part was more directed to the child, who laughed and clapped her hands. Camus chuckled, gathering both of them close.

“I'm sorry I had to go,” he admitted warmly, and she was so glad that the last of his reserve had crumbled when Chrysanthi had been born. She snuggled up, amused that Chrysanthi was doing the same.

“I'm so tired, Camus,” she yawned, and he rubbed her arm gently. 

“Then rest, Milo. I'm here for you. For both of you.” He kissed Chrysanthi’s chubby little cheek, eliciting a squeal of glee, and then kissed her, warm and soft. “I've got you both.”


	13. Taurus Aldebaran/Aries Mû: "Do you ever follow directions?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taurus solidarity thanks u friend, for requesting my stand up all time big boi sweetheart Aldebaran. He don't get enough love.
> 
> ...yes author is biased, she is a Taurus. But I'm married to a Virgo-Libra cusp so idek.
> 
> Also Mû here has my sense of direction, which is to say shit even with directions. /shrugs

“Are we lost?” Aldebaran finally speaks up. He's been following Mû diligently around the festival, looking for someone or something, and the small Tibetan is looking increasingly frustrated. Aldebaran just wants to enjoy the festival. Mû pouts up at him from under his broad-brimmed sunhat.

“We're not lost, I just can't find the booth.” He says firmly. Aldebaran raises a heavy eyebrow. Mû pouts some more, reaching up to tug on Aldebaran’s high ponytail in retaliation. Aldebaran smirks, before sweeping Mû off his feet and into his arms.

“Did you ask for directions?” He asks after Mû squeals and resettles himself. 

“Yes!” Mû says indignantly, digging them out of his shorts pocket. Aldebaran looks them over, turning them around. He thinks he sees where Mû took a wrong turn. 

“Do you ever  _ follow _ directions?” He teases gently, and Mû smacks his shoulder. 

“Yes I do! It's not my fault people make them unnecessarily complicated,” he grumbles, sulking a bit. Aldebaran hitches him up a little higher to kiss him, warm and thorough, before setting him gently on his feet, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Come on, it's this way, sweetheart,” he tells the smaller man warmly, and Mû trots after him, smiling and flushed. “After this we should get some lemonade,” he mentions, waving at a stall selling the tart liquid - infused with lavender? How interesting.

“Sounds good,” Mû agrees, taking his hand back, and tucking himself under Aldebaran’s arm instead, tangling their fingers again when they're resting against his shoulder. Aldebaran smiles down at him fondly and steers him away.


	14. Aquarius Camus/Capricorn Shura: “Do you wish things had happened differently?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for implied attempted suicide. Shura is extremely depressed, and essentially a victim of childhood emotional abuse and manipulation, because you can't tell me that forcing a ten year old to kill someone isn't child abuse.

“Do you wish things had happened differently?” Camus glances up at the voice, a warm Spanish accent coloring the shapes of Greek words. It's the Capricorn Saint, Shura. They never spent much time together. 

“Of course I do,” he replies, soft and hushed in this borrowed hall. They don't know if the Specters are spying, but it's safer to assume they are. “I don't think anyone truly wants to die.” He says thoughtlessly, and Shura smiles, something dark and bitter.

“I wouldn't be so sure, Camus. I tried several times to die. It was only my own cowardice that prevented me,” he says, a dark, broken smile curling full lips. Camus is at a loss. 

“Why…?” he asked finally, lost and unnerved. Shura sends him a sharp look, and he flinches.

“Why do you think? I killed my idol at the age of ten.” Shura snaps with an awful kind of bitter, biting rage. Camus huddles into himself, thrown and off balance, arms crossed protectively over his chest, shoulders rounded and head bowed. Shura let's out a gusty sigh. “That was uncalled for. My apologies. I suppose we never spent much time together, in the end. I'm just…”

“Anxious?” Camus supplies, uncurling a touch. Shura nods, dragging a hand through the short black curls of his hair.

“As good a word as any for it,” he sighs, and Camus reachs out a tentative hand to rest it on Shura’s arm, ready to snatch it back at any violent motion. Instead Shura seems to sag somewhat, weighed down by an invisible grief. Camus tries to recall how much Shura had interacted with anyone, and can't seem to recall. He had always been quiet, aloof and reserved. Had that been some kind of self punishment? 

Moving slowly, giving the tall man ample time to bolt, Camus enfolds Shura in a hug, guiding Shura’s face to the hollow of his shoulder, clad in a soft, undyed tunic. Shura is tense for a long moment, before he shivers, becoming pliant in Camus’s arms. His own arms catch Camus tightly, squeezing a tiny huff out of him. Camus says nothing as slow, agonizing tears wet his shoulder, simply stroking those lush black curls, and rubbing circles into a broad, muscled back.


	15. Sagittarius Aiolos/Gemini Saga: “You can lie to yourself, but don't lie to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution for Saga’s canonical suicide (averted).
> 
> Look, it’s an Aiolos survived AU! Also I hate Old Man Kido with a fiery passion. Also what the shit was Aiolos thinking, giving a baby to a complete stranger he didn’t know from donkey shit in the street? For all he knew, old man Kido could have been a murderer or a pedophile. Anyway, sorry about that I have emotions. Also contains my personal headcanon that Saga was being literally possessed.

Aiolos was angry, not something that happened often. He was usually a pretty open, optimistic guy, if he did say so himself. Even the coma hadn't taken that from him, which all his doctors had said was a miracle. 

Now though, he was angry. Blood slipped through his fingers where he had deflected the Nike Staff away from Saga’s chest. His dearest childhood friend, his teenage boyfriend, looked up at him through shocked blue eyes, hands falling numbly away from their Lady’s Staff. It clattered to the ground, Saori having dropped in in shock and fear.

That was fair. Aiolos had concealed his survival up until now, abandoned in a Greek hospital and then traveling the world trying to find the stranger he had stupidly, in a haze of pain and blood loss, given his Cloth and his Goddess to. He'd arrived a touch too late to stop the plan the old fool had set into motion, and so adapted it to suit his needs.

He had taught kindness through example to the spoiled young Saori Kido, reminded her that pride without humility was just arrogance, and she had blossomed into the young girl she had always had the potential to be. A young woman he was proud to serve and call his Goddess. She would have gotten there on her own, once the old man had passed away, he had just hastened the process

Now it was his job to stop Saga - newly freed from a long and arduous possession at the hands of Athena’s nemesis, the God of bloodshed, conquest, and violence, Ares, God of War - from killing himself over things he had no control over. Saga had always been a gentle-hearted fool, how his heart must be bleeding now with the sins of Ares seemingly staining his hands.

“Do not try to end your life, old friend. That would be a waste of a good Saint of Athena,” he told Saga softly. Tears filled familiar blue eyes.

“I am not a good Saint. I'm not even a good man.” He choked, tears pouring down his face. Aiolos hauled him close into a hug, only slightly awkward with him crouched and Saga kneeling.

“You can lie to yourself, but don't lie to me, Gemini Saga.” He said, soft and fierce. “You are a good man who tried to stave of the power of a God to preserve what you could.” 


	16. Gemini Defteros/Virgo Asmita: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @aquariusdegel asked: Defmita? For prompt 32, “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” except it’s Defteros who says it :3c

Fear is familiar to Defteros, not that he’d admit it aloud. He’s used to fear being tempered and shaped into anger, though, so when he feels fear like something small and delicate in his chest, he panics.

It takes him a long time to identify that tiny flower of fear, to identify the soft, careful flavor of joy within it. It’s not something he’s felt in a long time, and this is different anyway.

Love blooms tender and hidden in his chest, and he is afraid.

It is not like the love that he still holds for Aspros. In the beginning, it was probably similar, solid, familial warmth in place of tender sweetness, but something had poisoned it with hatred and real anger. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t still love Aspros, because that love is bitter and helpless and angry.

This love is new and sweet and tender, and he fears it. He fears for it. Could this sweet bloom go the same way as the love he had for Aspros? Would he one day fester it with hatred and bitter jealousy? Is it his fault that their warm, solid brotherly love had done so in the first place? He wishes he knew. He loves his brother still, even after everything he’s done to Defteros, and it still brings him to quiet, bitter tears when he’s alone, in the still of night.

Then there’s the person those feelings within him belong to. Met during the worst part of his life, Asmita is someone he deeply admires. He’s willing to admit that. He’s less willing to admit the blossoming love within his chest.

Asmita is beautiful, but more than that, he’s calm and confident, self-assured without being self-absorbed or selfish. He helped Defteros, having never met him before that day, and he…

Defteros sighs, burying his face in his hands. A few moments later a hand finds his head and pats gently. Asmita has finally arrived. Defteros looks up at him, trying to get the words out of his mouth and finding them stuck between his heart and his lips once more. Asmita’s hand slips down to cup his cheek, and he looks faintly concerned.

“What troubles you, Defteros?” He asks gently, and Defteros surges up onto his knees from where he had sat, and embraces Asmita, head pillowing against the shorter man’s shoulder. He feels tears escape his eyes, to his shame.

“What troubles you, my dear friend?” Asmita murmurs again, stroking his hands through Defteros’s thick hair.

“I am afraid,” he rasps, and Asmita waits patiently, still wordlessly soothing him. “I think… I think I’m in love with you, and it terrifies me, Asmita,” he breathes, barely audible. Asmita’s hands find his face, looking at him with callused fingertips and brushing away his tears.

"Thank you, Defteros, I’m honored,” he says softly, and carefully, delicately, kisses Defteros’s closed eyelids, thumbs smoothing lightly over them before soft, chapped lips. Defteros breathes out in tangled relief, and holds him closer, breathing in the soft scents of the incense he burns.


	17. Gullinbursti Fróði/Leo Aiolia: “Don’t you dare throw that snowba- goddammit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @therealsirfrodi asked: Could you do Aiolia and Fróði with 11, “Don’t you dare throw that snowba- goddammit!”?

Aiolia loves his boyfriend, but he does not love Asgard, for one  _very important_  reason.

It’s  _cold._

He snuggles a little deeper into the blanket around his head and shoulders, making a soft, sad noise. When he’s focused and tense, like the first time he’d been to Asgard during the Loki Crisis, he doesn’t tend to notice cold. Or really, any physical discomfort. When he’s just here because Fróði is here, well. It’s cold, and he doesn’t understand why he has to be outside when it’s actively snowing. He’s  _Greek,_  for the gods’ sake. It doesn’t snow in Greece, it just rains. He’s a tender soul of warm, Mediterranean climates, not frozen wastelands.

Fróði says he’s being dumb, and once he’s out in it, playing like little kids again with Lyfia and everyone, he’ll be just fine. He’s not convinced, though Lyfia and Fróði’s clear, ringing laughter does make him smile slightly. He looks around, and sees Fróði with something in his mittened hands, and his eyes go wide.

“Fróði, don’t you dare throw that snowba- goddammit!” he yowls as cold, wet snow splattering against his shoulder and splashing up onto his face. In a moment he’s abandoned the blanket (soft and warm and snuggly, Fróði will  _pay for that_ ) and tackled his boyfriend into the snow, stuffing handfuls into his face. Fróði retaliates, flipping them over, and Aiolia yowls again as he feels wet coldness begin to seep under his collar and cuffs.

Lyfia is practically crying with laughter as they wrestle, leaning against a tree, and as one they reach up to tip a branch full of snow onto her. She screams and bolts, still giggling, and Fróði gathers Aiolia close, chuckling. His cold nose brushes Aiolia’s, and he whines unhappily, but makes a soft, pleased sound when Fróði kisses him softly.

“Can we go inside again, please?” He asks, making his green eyes as wide and pathetic as he can make them, exaggerating his shivering. Fróði sighs, but he’s smiling.

“Come on, kitten, let’s get you warmed up,” he replies, wrapping an arm around Aiolia’s shoulders and grabbing up the fallen blanket. Aiolia smirks a bit.

“I can think of ways to get warmed up,” he purrs softly, thinking of the fur rug in front of the fireplace, Fróði’s hands against his skin, his fingers inside his body, opening a space for Fróði within Aiolia, the way Fróði tells him he’s beautiful in the firelight. Aiolia shivers again, this time with the faint stirring of arousal, and Fróði smiles, liquid and slow. He bends to kiss Aiolia again, tangling their tongues together until Aiolia is breathless and clinging to his taller lover.

“I think we could manage that,” Fróði promises, voice rich and husky.


	18. Pegasus Seiya & Unicorn Jab: "Well, this is awkward..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @teary-eyed-circle-of-friendship asked: Oooooh, how about a friendshippy 49 (“Well, this is awkward…”) with Seiya and Jabu?
> 
> (Thanks for the congrats! <3 Also thanks for the cute prompt!)

Seiya is exhausted and frustrated. This seems to be his default state since they had returned from the Underworld, Seiya barely hanging on to life by a thread. Ikki, dumb, stubborn and bullheaded, had tied their Cosmos together, granting him the burning life of the Phoenix. The doctors tell him that’s the only reason that he’s still alive.

Only no one had told them that  _apparently_ tying your Cosmos together, even just to sustain the life of a friend, creates some sort of weird psychic bond. One that  _apparently_ Saints use for marriage. Also apparently Gold Saints can retire? And Milo’s mentor and predecessor to the Scorpio Cloth has returned to Sanctuary to take up being Grand Master, after Saori-Athena had purified her of some weird brainwashing that evil Saga had done to her.

He  _thinks._

She’s gone now, but Jab is still lingering, clutching a clipboard and several folders to his chest and frowning at him. Seiya rolls his eyes. He’s breathing on his own again, he doesn’t know why he looks so worried.

“So, you ran off and got married at fourteen, huh?” Jab settles on, and Seiya glares at him.

“Thanks for reminding me. Technically, he married me, to keep the godly stab wound through my lungs from actually killing me,” he reminds his rival. Jab snorts.

"Well,  _this_ is awkward…” he starts, and Seiya knows that look. Unfortunately, he’s too exhausted to move. Jab shakes his head, mock-disappointed. “Married at fourteen, what will your parents say,” he sighs dramatically. Seiya grits his teeth, feigning annoyance. He’s actually trying not to laugh, because laughing still hurts like a bitch right now.

“I’m an orphan, you idiot, just like you,” he wheezes out. Jab continues as though he hadn’t said anything, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eyes.

“Just remember to practice safe sex, Seiya,” he reminds solemnly. Seiya can see the twitching at the corners of his mouth that means he’s also on the verge of cracking up. “I know you’ve had a crush on him since we were kids, but-”

“That wasn’t a crush! We were six, I looked up to him!” Seiya protests, words choppy and breath uneven, wheezing chuckles despite himself.

“ _But,_  remember not to let him pressure you into anything!” Jab talks over Seiya’s protests. “After all, Seiya,” he looks Seiya dead in the eye as he delivers the final blow. “You don’t want to become a teen pregnancy statistic.” he says solemnly. They stare at each other with utter stillness, before Seiya picks up his hairbrush and throws it at Jab’s face.

"Jab you suck!” He calls after the Unicorn Saint after he bolts, trying to calm his own giggles. His chest hurts like hell, but he does actually feel better, emotionally. “I’m a guy, I can’t  _get_ pregnant,” he mutters to the ceiling. A small, shocked noise issued from the direction of the door, and he lifts his head to stare at Shun. Shun looks bewildered and bemused.

“Well, this is awkward…” he mutters.


	19. Leo Aiolia/Lyfia: "I'm pregnant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @polucyworld asked: Hello, thank you for the tag, I’d like Lyfia and Leo Aiolia couple prompt number 27 (“I’m pregnant.”) please. Thank you so much!
> 
> I think this one gave me cavities. Enjoy!

Aiolia curled sleepily around his wife, morning beginning to break through the curtains. He stroked her hip, kissing the back of her neck, with the vague, sleepy notion of maybe morning sex when she groaned. He sat up a little, worried. That hadn’t been a happy or pleased noise, it had sounded more-

Lyfia scrambled out of bed, bolting for the bathroom. He ran after her, getting there barely in time to hold her hair out of the way for her as she was sick. He rubbed her back soothingly, trying to gauge her temperature. Was it food poisoning? The flu? Aiolia stood and wet a washcloth for her as she flushed the toilet, helping Lyfia to her feet, to wipe her face and rinse her mouth out.

“Do you want to go see the castle doctor?” He asked gently. Lyfia smiled weakly, and he gently picked her up and brought her back out to the bedroom.

"It’s all right, I know what the matter is,” Lyfia shook her head with a little smile. Aiolia frowned, concerned.

“Lyfia?” He tried not to jump to conclusions, worry making his heart pound. She was smiling. She wouldn’t be smiling if she was dying or seriously ill, he reminded himself firmly.

"Aiolia, can you grab the brown folder on my desk and look inside it for me?” She asked, and he quickly complied, pulling out the weird grainy black and white images. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but the format looked familiar. Aiolia looked at her, lost. She smiled with patient fondness, and set her hands over her stomach. He blinked, looked at the weird pictures, and back to her.

“Lyfia- is this- are you-” he asked, his hands shaking a bit. She smiled, a bit shy and utterly radiant.

“I’m pregnant.” She said simply, and he dropped the papers to shift over to her side of the bed, pulling her into his lap and kissing her, even as tears slipped down his cheeks.  She laughed, gently wiping them away with her thumbs. “Twins, Aiolia. I was going to tell you tonight at dinner, that’s why I said we should go on a date. I guess they had other plans!” she laughed brightly, and he joined her, joyful in the early morning sunlight.

“You’re pregnant,” he breathed, pressing one careful, gentle hand to her stomach, still soft, not yet round and heavy. “You’re making two whole people in there! Tell me if you need absolutely anything, okay, sweetheart?” He asked worriedly. Lyfia laughed softly again.

“I will. And I spoke with the doctor, there shouldn’t be any issues with the pregnancy and my job as Lord Odin’s Speaker. Though I shouldn’t go on any more trips starting two months from now. And she gave me a whole bunch of awful, enormous pills to take. They taste disgusting, even when I swallow them with juice.” She made a sad face, and he cuddled her a bit closer. “I was going to speak with Hilda about helping me out with my duties after I told you.” Aiolia nodded. It sounded like she had everything under control.

“I should probably arrange paternity leave once you’re more advanced, so that I can help you with stuff, and the babies, when they’re born.” He mentioned, and Lyfia nodded agreeably. “Oh gods, I have to tell Aiolos! He’s gonna flip!” Aiolia laughed, and Lyfia giggled. Aiolos was going to spoil these babies absolutely rotten.

Aiolia flopped back onto the bed, Lyfia curled against his chest, and he kissed her head, feeling about ready to pop with emotions.

"I’m gonna be a dad,” he breathed reverently, holding her a bit closer.

“Yes you are, Aiolia. A good one, too. We’ll try our best, and all our friends will help.” Lyfia promised him, and they were both crying and smiling as he kissed her.


	20. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo: “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @de-gochy asked: 19 (“The paint’s supposed to go where?”) Camus/Milo. Thanks~ :D
> 
> I lay the edible body paint idea firmly at the feet of @aphrodites-bloody-rose/WaywardDesertKnight, because it is definitely his fault. He is my live in enabler, apparently, not my newly wedded husband. Or he’s both.

“The paint’s supposed to go  _where?_ ” Camus squeaks, staring at his nineteenth birthday present from his boyfriend of nine months. He’s glad Milo gave him this in the sanctity of their bedroom, the kids in town visiting with Camus’s grandmother, Aleksandra, or just Sasha, and cousin, Mikhail, or Misha.

“On your body, that’s why it’s edible.” Milo says patiently. Camus squeaks again, face flushing brightly. “It’s made from chocolate, look, this one is white chocolate with strawberry flavoring, tinted pink. This one is just chocolate, though.”

“But why is this a thing?!” Camus whines. Milo rolls his eyes.

“Just think about it, sweetheart,” he croons softly, drawing the paintbrush that had come with the kit along one of Camus’s arms. He shivers. It does feel nice… “The point of painting it on is to lick it off, Kasha,” he purrs, laying an open-mouthed kiss to befreckled skin, using his Russian nickname. Camus swallows hard.

“O-oh,” he breathes. “That doesn’t, ah, sound too bad…” he frowns. “Wait, wouldn’t I have to go shower after? Sticky sex doesn’t sound terribly fantastic. And what if one of us gets an infection?” He asks, and Milo sighs heavily, dropping the paintbrush to the bedspread.

“You’ll only get an infection if you, I don’t know, dip your dick in it, Camus. And if you’re that concerned about the sticky factor, we can get wet washcloths to do a quick cleanup before sex.” Milo tells him after a moment’s thought. Camus is still frowning.

“Do these need to be refrigerated?” He asks suspiciously, picking up one of the little jars and inspecting it. “What if the  _kids_ find this?” He looked mildly horrified. Milo buried his face in his hands.

“Oh sweet gods, Camus, Kasha, beloved, sweetheart,  _you are the Aquarius Saint_. If they need refrigeration, just refrigerate them with your Cosmo.” He says, thoroughly exasperated. Camus blushes again.

“Oops. Sorry, Milo, I forgot,” he says meekly. Milo shoots him an entirely dry look.

“Believe me, I noticed.”


	21. Wyvern Rhadamanthys/Harpy Valentine/Basilisk Sylphid: “Well this is awkward…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @aphrodites-bloody-rose asked: Rhadamanthys/Sylphid/Valentine with #49, “Well this is awkward…”, please? :D
> 
> This is set in what @aphrodites-bloody-rose and I call the Spooky Scary Skeletons AU, where the Specters can transform into the creature their Surplice is named after, both a full transformation and a halfway point if their creature form is fully nonhuman. This also assumes they’re immortal and not reincarnating once they hit the Underworld. 
> 
> Also, do y'all know that Cards Against Humanity card “Getting so angry that you pop a boner”? Yeah, that’s my interpretation of Sylphid, lol.

Valentine is breathless but victorious, crouched above Sylphid with his sharp teeth just touching the tender skin of his throat. He listens for Rhadamanthys to call the match, and the Wyvern does so, moments later, his voice sounding slightly deeper for some reason. He pulls up and hops off, flaring his wings for balance.

“Good match, Sylphid!” Valentine chirps, only smirking a little bit. It’s about time he put the cocky Basilisk in his place. Sylphid takes a moment to get the heavy, muscled coils of his lower snake body under himself and get upright again, looking slightly affronted and brushing off his short armored battle skirt. The battle skirt that looks like it’s sitting strangely. Valentine looks curiously at his opponent, but Sylphid won’t meet his eyes. Rhadamanthys prowls into the training ring, giving them both a slow, predatory smile.

“Good work, both of you,” he rumbles, and Valentine can’t help the slight spike of arousal at his voice. He has a lovely, lovely voice. Sylphid’s pale cheeks are pink, which means Valentine probably isn’t alone in this opinion. “Looks like you could both use a bath. I’ve got a large one in my chambers, if the two of you wish to join me,” he offers, and his body language is very… flirtatious? It’s Valentine’s turn to blush. Though- isn’t that sort of against the rules? Fraternizing, or something of that nature.

“Is that permitted, Milord?” He asks tentatively. Rhadamanthys huffs softly.

“Only if you bring rank into it, lovely Harpy,” he says. “If you come to me as your commander, nothing will happen. If you come to me as just another man,” he trails off, cupping Valentine’s cheek. Valentine allows his eyes to drift shut and considers it. In the mortal plane, this would be a bad idea. Here, in the Underworld, immortal and with the Eighth Sense activated, he’s beginning to realize there wouldn’t be a conflict of interests. He could pursue a relationship and still have the ability to act professionally. How strange.

“All right, I’d like to try it,” he murmurs, glancing over at Sylphid and really looking at him for the first time- the way his smooth, muscled upper body melts seamlessly into healthy, gleaming white scales. His fluff of white hair, and the way that his eyes gleamed like rubies. Then, there’s Rhadamanthys. In his wyvern shape he’s power and muscle wrapped in royal purple scales with gleaming gold accents. Beautiful.

“I’m down for it,” Sylphid smirks, but it’s a touch less confident, a tiny bit nervous, and Valentine feels better all of a sudden. If ever-confident, trash-talking Sylphid is nervous, than he’s not alone in this. He smiles sweetly, and then frowns.

“Wait, if we’re really going to do this- well, if we ever do this with all of us in half-form…” he bites his lip as Sylphid and Rhadamanthys look at him inquisitively. “Sylphid is the only one of us who has  _hands_ in half form! We have wings, Rhadamanthys.”

There’s a pause.

“Well, this is awkward…” Sylphid drawls, and Valentine rolls his eyes as Rhadamanthys huffs out a sigh.

“We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Rhadamanthys says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “For now, I promised you two a bath, didn’t I?” He smiles, and Valentine returns it.


	22. Leo Aiolia & Scorpio Milo: “This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @regina-del-cielo asked: Hi! If you still accept prompts, may I ask for 18 (“This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”), with Milo and Aiolia as friends? Thank you! I absolutely love how you write!
> 
> Aw, thanks sugar, compliments get you absolutely everywhere! Sorry this one is kind of short, I was trying to keep it fairly ambiguous who they were talking about, do you can just fill in your favorite pairing.

Milo stared at Aiolia. Aiolia stared at Milo. There was intensive, slightly incredulous staring, broken only when the waitress brought by their plates- baklava for Aiolia and kataïfi for Milo.

“What?” Aiolia asked, a little dumbly. Milo sighed, rolling his eyes.

“You heard me. I think a double date might solve our problems.” He reiterated. Aiolia pondered this again, taking a bite of his baklava. This new cafe had really good baklava, and Milo knew his weakness for sweets, especially good baklava, so he knew this was a bribe. Not that he really needed a bribe, if it panned out, Milo’s idea would benefit both of them.

“Would they go on a double date? This still involves asking them out, and I thought we both agreed that was a terrifying prospect,” he pointed out. Milo hummed, thinking.

"Well… we could ask them out on each other’s behalf?” He suggested, and Aiolia contemplated that, taking a sip of his coffee.

"So what happens if they think we’re asking them out ourselves, not for each other?” He asked, and Milo rolled his eyes again.

“Be specific! Say you’re asking them out for me, or on behalf of a friend. I guess we could stage it as a blind date,” he tapped his fork against his lip.

“This would be easier if we were just attracted to each other,” Aiolia finally complained. Milo smiled.

"If we hadn’t become friends from mutual romantic woes, would we have become friends at all?” He asked whimsically. Aiolia glared at him lightly.

” _Yes,_  we would have. And then we wouldn’t need to worry, it would have been- I don’t know, organic.” He declared. Milo wrinkled his nose delicately.

“What, like the vegetables you get down at the Rodorio farmer’s market?” He asked skeptically. Aiolia pouted.

“You know what I mean,” he said, and Milo nodded with a faintly apologetic smile.

"Back on topic, though…” Milo said leadingly. Aiolia rolled his eyes.

"This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” Aiolia sighed softly, stuffing more baklava into his mouth, and Milo grinned fiercely in victory. "Still not sure it’ll work!” He cautioned.

“You won’t regret this! I hope,” Aiolia was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear that last comment, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You hope? Where’d all that confidence go?” He asked, amused. Milo huffed, tossing his hair over one shoulder.

"I’m always confident. You were just hearing things.” He said haughtily, and Aiolia laughed.


	23. Mizar Zeta Syd/Lyfia: “You need to wake up, because I can’t do this without you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @wishingyoucoulsshowmelove asked: Congrats on your marriage! ^3^ Can I ask for shippy Syd/Lyfia with the prompt 20 (“You need to wake up, because I can’t do this without you.”)? Thanks a lot in advance, and omggg your fics are precious! You’re an inspiration to another fellow writers. ;-; Thanks again!
> 
> Aaaah! Like I told @regina-del-cielo, compliments get you everywhere, sugar. This one is pretty obviously canon divergent.

Lyfia is terrified. Valhalla Palace has been invaded, and for some reason she isn’t barricaded into the servants’ quarters like she should be. She’s lost time somewhere between evacuating with the staff and here, something that scares her even more. Lyfia doesn’t know how she got here, and the smell of blood lies heavy in the air. She’s tucked herself into a corner behind a pillar, trying to breathe through the stink and her own panic.

Shuffling footsteps echo down the corridor, and Lyfia looks up, her heart pounding.

Dim light gleams off of bloodied snow-white armor, and even more bloodied green. She’s on her feet before her mind can catch up, running to them on the wings of terror.

“Syd!” Lyfia gasps, her hands cradling his face, slack in death. It can’t be. Her fingers find his throat, she holds her breath and tries to feel for his heartbeat against the thunder of her own. Her mind flickers to sweet, stolen moments. A meeting in the libraries, a kiss beside a frozen pond, hands clasping in a restaurant under the table.

There. A tiny, weak flicker. Lyfia glances around, trying to get her bearings, and suddenly knows exactly where the medical wing is.

"Quickly, this way,” she demands, tugging at the other man’s arm. She glances at him, breath catching- a touch harder, less sweet, but the same face. She hadn’t known the brother he spoke of so distantly and yet tenderly was his twin. Lyfia sets it aside, tugging again, insistant. There is suddenly an hourglass in her mind, each grain of sand counting down to the time when Syd will be beyond saving.

"Woman, there is no use. He’s dead.” Syd’s brother states, emotionless, mechanical. She hates him just a little in this moment.

"There is! I felt his heartbeat, you oaf, now move!” Lyfia can hardly believe her own daring. She should behave with due deference around God Warriors, she’s only a ladies’ maid! Surprisingly, he does move at that, and now she’s hard pressed to keep up with him, catching up her skirts and running, losing her slippers somewhere when they simply fall off her feet. Thankfully the medical staff thought to barricade themselves within their domain, so once she convinces them to let them in, they’re safe, and Syd is in the best hands he can be in.

He makes it. No others of the deployed God Warriors do, save Polaris Hilda, who had apparently been possessed by the new ring she hadn’t ever taken off. The Stars of the God Warriors lie devastated, and all of Asgard mourns. Only the Beasts remain. Lyfia is glad, shamefully so, that Fróði is still hale and whole.

She waits, and does her duties. What few moments she can snatch, all of her precious free time, is spent either at his bedside or listening hopefully for news of his recovery. Two days later, she stands by his bed, one small hand tracing his cheek.

“You need to wake up,” she says, soft and shaky, on the verge of tears. “Because I can’t do this without you.” Lyfia bows her head and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He stirs, and kisses back. Her heart soars in jubilation, and she twitches back to watch him. His eyes are barely open, but they’re lucid.

He’ll make it.


	24. Capricorn Shura/Scorpio Milo/Aquarius Camus: “Hey, have you seen the… Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @de-gochy asked: #46 (“Hey, have you seen the… Oh.”) Shura/Camus/Milo. Thanks ^3~
> 
> Welp, this one landed firmly in smut territory!

Shura sighs softly, wondering where his two boyfriends had run off to, and where his paella pan is. Had he left it in Capricorn after all? He had thought he'd used it here in Aquarius last. He shifts through the rooms, looking for Camus and Milo. At the bedroom, he hears a noise, and smiles, opening the door.

“Hey, have you seen the…  _ Oh _ .” Shura’s eyes go wide, and he quickly closes the door behind him. Camus and Milo are kneeling on the bed, fingering each other open as they kiss, pressing together, grinding against each other's thighs. “Milo, Camus…” he breathes softly, pulling off his shirt. Milo breaks apart from Camus briefly to shoot him a naughty little smile. 

“Come to join the fun, Shura?” He breathes huskily, as Camus bows his head to nip and lick at his throat. “We were wondering if we'd have to call for you, or if you'd show up eventually. Which one of us would you like to fuck?” He grins saucily, and Shura grabs his chin, kissing him, nipping his lips and licking into his mouth. Milo is breathless when they part, and Shura smirks a little. 

“I think I'd like to fuck you,” he breathes, voice low and husky as he pulls off his pants a touch hastily. “Though I'll have you know I was going to make you both dinner- mm,  _ Camus _ !” the redhead had pulled his fingers free and wiped them off on the towel they'd spread over the sheets, and was now reaching forward, wrapping clever hands around Shura’s cock, wrapping his mouth over the tip and bringing him to full attention.

“Dinner can wait,” Milo breathes, untangling himself and finding two condoms. He rolled one over himself quickly, before pressing the second against the back of Camus’s hand. “Come on, Camus, as beautiful as you are giving head, I want him in me.” he murmurs. Camus obliges, pulling back and putting the condom onto Shura. He tips the redhead’s face up for a sweet kiss, before they shift around, settling into a good position and slicking up the condoms. 

Camus hooks his knees over Milo’s elbows and they moan in concert as Milo sinks slowly into him. Shura bites at the back of Milo’s neck, one strong hand around Camus’s ankle in reassurance. 

“Gods above you're both so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, low and reverent. “Are you both ready?” Milo and Camus nod, and he lines himself up, pressing into Milo’s tight, velvet heat. Camus cries out softly as that drives Milo just a little deeper within him.

It can be difficult to set a good pace for three, but they’ve gotten good at it, a slow, slick, hot slide. The sound and smell of sex thick in the air. Camus’s moans, Milo’s breathy gasps, his own low groans.

Milo comes first, which isn't surprising, given that he's in the middle. Camus succumbs quickly after that when Milo strokes him to trembling completion. Shura holds on, barely, fucking Milo through his orgasm just the way he likes it, prolonging the Scorpio’s pleasure before tipping off the precipice himself. A bit of reshuffling, and a quick cleanup later, and Shura lies on his back between them, cuddling them both close.

“Oh, right. Have either of you seen my paella pan?” He asks, a touch sleepy in post-orgasm.

“Yeah, you left it down in Scorpio last week,” Milo yawns.


	25. Phoenix Ikki/Cygnus Hyôga (LoS): “Am I in another universe, or did you just crack a smile for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @therealsirfrodi asked: How about a sweet 40 starring Ikki and Hyôga? (“Am I in another universe, or did you just crack a smile for me?”)
> 
> I hope Legend of Sanctuary version is okay, because that’s what happened! Also, just realizing you said sweet, and got, well, this.

Hyôga slips outside, basking in the chill of the evening, leaving Saori’s light laughter, Seiya’s excitable chatter, Shun’s indulgent smiles, and Shiryû’s calm conversation behind him. He twists his rings around his fingers and unzips his jacket.

“You can go in, you know. There’s cake. Shun would be happy to see you, and nobody else would mind either,” he says quietly, his breath puffing out into a frosted cloud.

“How did you know I was here,  _Hyotchka,_ ” Ikki slides from the shadows like a wraith, stepping lightly up behind Hyôga. Hyôga strangles his irritation at the casual use of his Russian nickname- really shouldn’t have ever told him that.

“I always know you’re there, Ikki,” he says, soft and casual, finally slipping off his jacket and draping it over the railing, leaving himself in his sleeveless black t-shirt. He adjusts his leather wristcuff, and carefully doesn’t look behind him.

Like Orpheus and Euridice, his brain conjures the thought, and he chuckles softly. Ikki steps up closer behind him- he can feel the taller teen’s tall bulk radiating heat behind him. It’s a strange dance they do, and Hyôga begins to tire of it. They’ve been dancing for nearly a year and a half, and Hyôga’s never sure if he’s got the right steps. He sighs softly when he feels one of Ikki’s hands ghost above his shoulder, not quite touching.

"Ikki, I’m tired of this,” he manages to say, and Ikki goes still as a statue behind him, hand retreating before it’s even made contact. “Don’t be like this, Ikki,” he says softly, and Ikki is still there. “What is this? Do you want a relationship or not?” Hyôga is terrified to confront Ikki like this, even in the strange, liminal space they’ve created. Nothing feels quite real.

"What about Shun? I thought you were…” Ikki pauses, confused, and Hyôga suppresses a slightly hysterical laugh.

"We had crushes on each other, yeah, but that was nearly four years ago now. We grew up, grew out of it. People do that. Besides, I saw Shiryû and Seiya kissing him a couple days ago. I think they’re negotiating some kind of polyamorous thing.” He says, cautious hope rising in his chest. He practically feels Ikki bristle, finally moving as though to storm inside, and turns quickly, catching his arm. “What the hell, Ikki? You’re okay with me being with Shun, but not Seiya and Shiryû?” He’s almost laughing at the absurdity. Ikki looks almost uncomfortable.

"I had time to come to terms with it being you,” he says, and Hyôga finally laughs softly, tinged with that hysteria, resting his forehead against Ikki’s leather-clad shoulder.

"What the hell, Ikki,” he mutters. Ikki makes a soft, disgruntled noise. “You’re so weird sometimes,” he says, and his hand on Ikki’s forearm slips lower slowly, before he takes the plunge, slipping his hand into Ikki’s. Ikki’s warm fingers tighten reflexively around Hyôga’s, and Hyôga lifts his head to look at Ikki. For once, the Phoenix Saint’s hair isn’t slicked back, falling over his face in long, choppy bangs, nearly hiding the scar betwixt his eyebrows. It’s a good look for him. Silver earrings flash in the blue-black of his hair. When he’d been younger, he’d wanted to be the older boy. Now…

He leans up, catching Ikki’s cheek with his other hand and kisses him, nervous and sweet and chaste. Ikki goes still again, and Hyôga’s heart drops. He begins to pull away from the taller teen, brain scrambling for a way to fix this.

Then suddenly, Ikki moves, catching Hyôga’s waist in his hands and spinning them around, pressing Hyôga against the side of the house in the shadows.

“Ikki-?” he breathes, a touch frightened, but Ikki just presses close, pushing a thigh between Hyôga’s, dipping his head and catching Hyôga’s lips in a bruising kiss, licking into his mouth. Hyôga moans, hands sliding under Ikki’s open leather jacket to clutch at his shoulders, bunching up the soft red t-shirt in his grip.

Gods, but this is everything he’s wanted for over a year. He pushes into Ikki’s body, hips grinding slightly, despite himself. Gods he must seem desperate. Then again, Ikki’s hot hands have migrated to Hyôga’s hips, thumbs teasing the waistband of his jeans, just under his shirt.

Finally they break apart, Hyôga gasping and Ikki breathing hard. Hyôga stares up at Ikki, a bit wide-eyed, pale cheeks flushed from kissing and Ikki’s warmth. And Ikki- Ikki actually smiles down at him, slight and sweetly tender.

"Am I in another universe, or did you just crack a smile for me?” Hyôga jokes, and Ikki rolls his eyes, still smiling a bit.

"Shut up, Hyotchka,” he murmurs is a low rumble that makes Hyôga’s hips twitch. For once the nickname doesn’t bug him, and he drags Ikki down into another kiss.


	26. Wyvern Rhadamanthys/Gemini Kanon: “If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: RhadaKano #34 (“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”), please <3
> 
> AU set in Atlantis, because I can excuse my own historical inaccuracy slash care less about it if it’s set in a completely fictional place. I had the hardest time picking a setting for this one, anon.

Rhadamanthys, high priest of the largest temple in Atlantis of Hades, Lord of the Underworld, has a problem. His lesser priests are shameless in teasing him about it. Sylphid and Valentine, disgustingly adorable couple that they are, are particularly fixated upon it.

“So, mighty Wyvern, are you still pining for your Sea Dragon today, or have you decided to man up and seduce him yet?” Sylphid saunters up to him, already kitted out for the Rite of Spring.

"Shut up, Sylphid,” he growls, but the other man just laughs.

"Valentine has a new toga for you, to help you look your best for him,” Sylphid smiles winningly. Rhadamanthys is exhausted, having just finished up the rites he was responsible for in preparation for the Rite of Spring, glad that Aiacos is handling their part in the ceremonial part of the festival. He admits having a fresh toga already selected for him is nice.

"Very well,” he grumbles, and Sylphid whisks him away to throw him to the tender mercies of Valentine.

They vanish on him when they actually get to the festival, but he’s tired, so he doesn’t care. Until he turns a flower-encrusted corner and bumps into the very man he Is definitely not trying to avoid.

"Kanon,” he greets, trying not to notice how beautifully the flowers braided into his hair and wreathing his head in a crown set off his golden mane and golden skin. Bright blue eyes flash with wicked humor.

"Rhadamanthys, well don’t you look a moment away from falling flat on your face. Here, have some wine.” Kanon pours some wine from the skin he’s carrying into a clay cup, and presses it into his hands. Rhadamanthys tries not to feel embarrassed or flustered, and accepts it with grace, drinking deeply.

"That’s a fine wine. Where did you find it?” He asks, passing the cup back after delicately wiping where his mouth touched. Kanon laughs.

"I got it from the priests of Dionysus, where else?” He claps Rhadamanthys’s shoulder. “Late ritual?” He says, and it sounds commiserating. Rhadamanthys isn’t sure where this sudden camaraderie is springing from, but he likes it, surprising though it be.

"Yes, I was up several hours before the sun, completing the rites of departure. A solemn ceremony of mourning.” He explains simply. Kanon is a priest of Poseidon, after all, and doesn’t need to know all the duties of a priest of Hades. Kanon nods.

“Well, there’s more wine if you need it. And there’s rumor stirring that Persephone’s priestesses and Dionysus’s priests are arranging an orgy in Persephone’s sacred glade. Spring rituals, right?” He chuckles, and Rhadamanthys eyes him thoughtfully.

"Are you planning to attend?” He asks, aiming for casual and landing squarely in rumbling suggestion as he reaches out and catches a free lock of golden hair, winding it about his finger. Kanon’s eyes fall half-lidded as he regards Rhadamanthys with heavy intent.

"Unless you make me a better offer. I hear tell they call you Wyvern, much like they call me Sea Dragon. Why is that, Rhadamanthys?” He purrs, and his mouth curls in a wicked smirk. Rhadamanthys steps closer, pulling on that lock of hair, and this close he sees he’s actually taller than the Sea Dragon, which pleases him viscerally.

"Are you sure you can handle it, golden boy,” he murmurs, dark and smoky and laden with promise.

"Well, if you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.” Kanon drawls, saucy and smirking. Rhadamanthys bares his teeth in a slow smile. He’s been at the festival a while now, has picked up a few things. Including a blessed jar of oil. They’re giving them away, after all. Kanon’s wearing a chiton, instead of a toga today, and it doesn’t quite reach his knees, the tease. They walk with tension sparking deliciously between them, finishing Kanon’s skin of wine, and the brew is definitely Dionysian in nature. Kanon seems bound and determined to undress Rhadamanthys before they even get to one of their houses. Rhadamanthys pushes him into his house just as he manages to unwrap the folds, and Rhadamanthys just barely catches his purse before it falls with his clothes.

He’s barefoot, as is proper on one of Persephone’s holy days. He unties his loincloth and relishes in the way Kanon’s eyes go dark with lust. He pulls the vial free and wets his fingers, pushing Kanon up against the wall with his body, pressing a thigh between his until the priest of Poseidon obediently spreads his legs. He pushes up Kanon’s chiton, and somehow isn’t surprised when he isn’t wearing a loincloth. He presses his fingers in one at a time, slow and ruthless as Kanon bucks and whines and claws at the wall, swearing at him viciously. Finally he pulls his fingers free and slicks his cock, lining up.

"Ready?” He growls, and Kanon presses back against him.

"I’ve  _been_ ready, Rhada,” he growls, and Rhadamanthys smirks, before driving fully into him, quick enough to make the blond scream for him. “Fuck, Rhadamanthys!” He wails, clutching at the wall. Rhadamanthys takes that as a suggestion and sets the pace quick and deep. Kanon is hot and tight around him, despite ample preparation, and the desperate noises he makes are music to his ears.

Kanon comes with a cry that may have once been Rhadamanthys’s name, Rhadamanthys’s hand wrapped around his cock and Rhadamanthys’s cock piercing his body deeply. Rhadamanthys spills soon after, milked by Kanon’s orgasm, biting at the exposed golden flesh of Kanon’s shoulder. He lowers them gently to the floor, nuzzling Kanon behind the ear, still deep within him. Kanon lets out a shaky, satisfied sigh, melting back into Rhadamanthys’s grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts are closed again!


	27. Aquarius Dégel/Scorpio Kardia: “If you can’t sleep… we could have sex?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for sex in a church. I’m sorry to everyone for that one, blame Kardia.

Dégel shifted uncomfortably for what felt like the millionth time that night. The cots they had been provided were hard and uncomfortable, but Dégel hadn’t protested. The village was small, it was a miracle they’d had a place to let them stay in the first place, even if that place was the village chapel. He was beginning to wish they’d stopped elsewhere. Even the ground sounded like a better option right now.  
  
He sighed softly, sitting up. Maybe a walk would make him tired enough to sleep in it. Kardia shifted, rolling over to look at him. Dégel smiled. Kardia was apparently a lot better at hiding sleeplessness than he was.   
  
“If you can’t sleep… we could have sex?” Kardia murmured, his eyes half-lidded, the steely blue looking nearly black between the scant light and Dégel’s poor vision. He looked more asleep than awake. Had Dégel woken him? Then his words hit Dégel, and he choked on air.  
  
“Kardia, what?” He hissed, mindful that only thin wooden walls separated them from the chapel, where he could hear priests moving and praying. It was a small, nearly closet-like room they’d been shuffled into. Kardia smirked, standing, and before Dégel realized what was happening, he’d slid into Dégel’s lap. Dégel stared up at him, not knowing what to do, where to put his hands.  
  
“Think about it, beautiful, haven’t you ever wanted to have sex in a church? Something nice about it, forbidden, exciting.” Kardia murmured, warm and intimate against Dégel’s ear. “We’d have to be quiet, though. Wouldn’t want to wear out our welcome.” Dégel’s hands found Kardia’s hips, gripping a hair too tightly. “Can’t leave a mess, either.” Kardia kissed him then, filthy and intimate, tangling their tongues together. Dégel’s breath and heartbeat sounded too loud for this, his heart pounding in his ears as he melted against Kardia. He whined when Kardia pulled away, before Kardia put his hand over his mouth.  
  
“Quiet, beautiful,” he reminded softly. The priests were singing now, as Kardia shifted down Dégel’s body, flipping his nightshirt up to bare his lower body. Dégel shivered, biting his lip, as he watched Kardia take his cock into his mouth. He had to bite his hand instead, to stifle the soft, whimpering noises he made at the feel of his mouth, hot and wet, making his erection fill. Kardia locked eyes with him as he worked, and Dégel was helpless to look away.   
  
He came shivering, biting dark indents into the meat of his thumb, and Kardia swallowed the evidence of their misdeeds. Kardia leaned back with a satisfied smile, and Dégel turned the tables, gently pushing his pillow over Kardia’s face.  
  
“You’ll need that,” he murmured in Kardia’s ear, before he bowed down and took Kardia into his own mouth. Kardia clutched the pillow to his face, peering over the top to watch.  
  
Kardia came as the priests were reaching the climax of their next hymn, and Dégel had to admit, Kardia was right about it being exciting. He cleared his throat quietly and smiled sweetly over at Kardia, a shivery mess that made Dégel feel rather smug. He thought he might be able to sleep now, the lethargy of post orgasm settling in. He kissed Kardia lightly and stole his pillow, since he’d used Dégel’s as a gag.


	28. Cancer Deathmask/Pisces Aphrodite: “Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, I headcanon DM as super flexible and gr9 at climbing? smirked again.  
> Also idk what the climbing wall is about? Apparently it's a million feet tall and a deathtrap or smth idk how things work, i just made something up, lol

“Jealous yet?” Deathmask smirked, hanging upside down from his knees from the highest bar of the climbing installation. Aphrodite glared at him from where he was methodically, steadily climbing. The purpose of the exercise was to use absolutely no Cosmo to stick, speed up, or brace themselves, except in the event they fell off, in which case they could lightspeed safely back to the ground.  
  
“Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you,” Aphrodite said, the breathless tone of his voice slightly ruining his aim at flippancy. “We can’t all be overly flexible circus performers, after all. Listen! I think the carnival wants their trained monkey back. You’d best hurry!” he bared his teeth in a mocking smile. Deathmask glowered at him, and he smiled angelically back, ignoring the sweat beaded at his brow and the pink flush of his cheeks. Deathmask did a few acrobatic flips, and now he was just showing off. Aphrodite hated him a little bit.  
  
“Carnival my ass,” he grouched, and Aphrodite smirked. He heaved himself up to sit on one of the sturdy steel bars, and looked down. Everyone else was still pretty far down the ludicrous setup, so he could still take some modicum of pride. Shura had just fallen off, and Milo was calling down to him to take his shoes off, he’s never going to get anywhere like that.  
  
Deathmask flipped down in front of him, and Aphrodite reflexively grabbed a handful of soft white curls.  
  
“Ow, fuck, ‘Dite,” he glared. Aphrodite released him, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Then don’t sneak up on me.” he reprimanded. Deathmask swayed in and kissed him sweetly.  
  
“There’s more waiting at the top!” He smirked, swinging himself back up. Aphrodite smirked.  
  
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were whoring yourself out to the rest of the Gold Saints,” he remarked casually, even as he did resume his climb, reaching another section of fake-rock-wall. Deathmask squeaked like a dying cat.  
  
“Aphro _dite_!” He howled indignantly. There was a distant thud as someone fell off in surprise. Aphrodite smirked again.


	29. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo (LoS):“The kids, they ambushed me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @perladellanotte wanted moar kidfic, so moar kidfic they got.

When Milo walks into the kitchen of hers and Camus’s living quarters in Sanctuary, she isn’t expecting to see her usually very dignified husband flat on his back at the mercy of two determined two-year-olds, while their eight-year-old watches serenely from her chair at the island.  
  
“Having fun, Camus?” She asks dryly, sidestepping small, sticky, chubby fingers to set her groceries on the countertop.  
  
“The kids, they ambushed me,” he says mournfully, and Glykeria sticks her fingers in his mouth. He splutters and pulls them out, his hand gentle around her little fat wrist. Iakovos springboards off his stomach to patter across the kitchen and attach himself to Milo’s knees. Camus wheezes, rolling onto his side, toppling Glykeria over gently, making sure to cushion her fall. Chrysanthi giggles.  
  
“I was never as silly as Glykki and Yako.” She says with the absolute certainty of an eight-year-old. Milo smirks, hauling Iakovos up into her arms.   
  
“Are you sure, my pretty little flower?” She presses a kiss to Chrysanthi’s forehead. “I’m pretty sure you were.” She says, looking at Camus. “Wouldn’t you agree?” She invites. He rolls to his feet and picks up Glykeria, settling her on his hip.  
  
“I’m terribly sorry, little Chryssy, but you were just as silly as they are.” He says gravely. Chrysanthi scrunches up her nose.  
  
“Even Yako? But he’s a boy! Boys are extra silly, you said so, Mama!” She cries in outrage. Milo winced slightly. That had actually been said in regards to Camus being stubborn.  
  
“Well, everyone is equally silly when they’re very little,” Camus days diplomatically. Chrysanthi looks doubtful.   
  
“If you say so. What’s for lunch? I want baba ghanouj.” She declares, and Milo smiles.

“Baba ghanouj? Shall I chop up baba and put him in the ghanouj?” She teases gently.

“No! Eggplant, eggplant!” She wails, grabbing Camus’s hand protectively.

“Eggplant it is!”


	30. Pegasus Seiya/Ophiuchus Shaina: “I don’t want you to stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for plotless sex. Aged up characters. I don’t ship this, but I hope I did it justice? I tried.

“We should stop, we really should. This is a terrible idea.” Shaina’s words are gasped to the ceiling more than they’re said to Seiya, where he’s mapping her breasts with his mouth. She moans softly when he finds a sensitive spot. “Terrible idea,” she insists softly. “I’m in love with Marin. You’re in love with, like, three different people. We’re just friends.”  
  
“Friends with benefits, now,” Seiya murmurs against her skin, but he does, obligingly, stop, looking up at her patiently. It amazes Shaina sometimes, how much Seiya’s grown in just ten years. He’s more patient now, at twenty-five, though he’s still effusive and has the world’s shortest attention span unless he’s really motivated.  
  
“Okay, I lied. I don’t want you to stop. I just also want to make sure you know this isn’t a long term thing.” Shaina breathes. He smiles.   
  
“No strings attached fun, you got it,” he throws her a cheesy wink and she laughs. It turns into a moan when he returns to lavishing her body with kisses and nips. She cries out softly when his mouth finds her sex, and where did Seiya lean cunnilingus? He’s fantastic at it. She shivers apart under his clever mouth, and he sits back, looking pleased with himself.   
  
“Got any condoms?” He asks, and she laughs breathlessly.   
  
“It’s not like I planned this, Seiya. Here, let me,” she sits up, a touch shaky, and wraps her hands around him, a long, twisting stroke.   
  
“Yeah, that works too,” Seiya moans, and he doesn’t last long either. They had both desperately needed that release. Seiya tucks his head into the crook of her neck with a pleased hum, and she grabs his discarded shirt to wipe off her hands. He doesn’t complain, and Shaina holds him, breathing slowly.


	31. Unicorn Jab & Bear Geki: “I don’t want to hear your excuse. You can’t just give me wet-willies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never written Geki in my life, so here goes nothing, lol. Also featuring a sneaky-ass Wolf with a camcorder. One of those big old shoulder ones, because this is the eighties. WE DIE LIKE MEN.

Jab really shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the common room of the Bronze dorms that he shared with Ichi, Nachi, Geki, and Ban. He knows better, in theory. You only get an uninterrupted nap if you go to your own bedroom in this house of hooligans. Anyone sleeping unprotected in the common room gets pranked, that’s just how it works. Jab himself has done the pranking!   
  
But he’s exhausted, from rigorous training and then a surprise nighttime guard shift. He’s tired, the late morning light is warm, the couch is obscenely comfortable-  
  
He falls asleep.  
  
When he wakes up it’s with an almighty squawk, falling off the couch and scrubbing a hand over his ear. He sees the culprit almost immediately, and glares, trying to untangle his legs. Geki grins unrepentantly down at him, and Jab sees Nachi fleeing with a cackle, faithful camcorder in hand. That asshole! Jab’s going to break that goddamn thing, prized possession or not.  
  
“What the fuck, Geki?” He grinds out. Geki grins.  
  
“You know the unwritten laws of this dorm.” He replies serenely. “Also, you should really clean out your ears.” he wiped his hand on his jeans.  
  
“I don’t want to hear your excuse. You can’t just give me wet-willies.” He growls, too tired to really formulate a decent argument. Geki looks unsympathetic.   
  
“You’re lucky it wasn’t Nachi. He wanted to cover your hands in shaving cream and then tickle your face. Go sleep it off, in your room. I’ll get you for dinner.” Geki laughs, clapping Jab on the shoulder, and Jab sulkily slopes off to his room. How come Nachi never gets caught out there, anyway? He’s got loads and loads of blackmail material on all fours of them, how come they don’t have any on him? Admittedly, he’s the only one who actually owns a camcorder. Stupid sneaky Wolf…   
  
He falls into bed and sleeps it off, waking in the mid afternoon, before going out for something to eat, grimly prepared to endure the teasing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently open for prompts at my tumblr, oopsbirdficced! I'll probably close on Sunday night (Oct. 29).


	32. Pisces Aphrodite/Gemini Saga: “Stay awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced malevolent possession.

“Stay awake.” The words are phrased as a demand, but his tone is soft and pleading. Aphrodite lifts his head sleepily, to see the huddled form of Saga curled up under his window. He hadn’t noticed the other man slip in- he is startlingly stealthy for a man of his stature. Aphrodite had been reading, but he’d just turned the lamp off to go to sleep. Aphrodite tosses back the covers with a soft sigh and crosses the starlit room to Saga’s side, coaxing him upright, guiding him to the bed with a muffled yawn. Saga looks wretched.  
  
“I’m sorry, Aphrodite. You shouldn’t have to take care of me like this, I should go,” he breathes softly, turning to leave. Aphrodite stops him, gentle and implacable.   
  
“How long do you have, do you think?” He asks instead of addressing Saga’s stupidity. Saga makes a noise that sounds a bit like a sob, and Aphrodite strokes his hair gently.  
  
“At least through the night,” he whispers. “He said there was something he needed to take care of?” Saga shudders. Aphrodite pushes him down onto the bed, pressing a kiss to his brow.  
  
“Then sleep.”   
  
“And if he comes back before morning? I don’t want to put you in even more danger. I only have so much warning.” Saga does sob now, and Aphrodite presses him back against the sheets.  
  
“Hush. Trust me to know what I’m doing, Saga,” he says, soft and light. “Now sleep.” He covers Saga’s eyes with his hand, and Saga clutches his wrist with a shuddering breath.  
  
“I do,” he murmurs, relaxing slowly, the coiled tension built up in his body draining slowly. Aphrodite sleepily considers the older man, resting his head against Saga’s chest. Aphrodite isn’t quite sure what he would do in Saga’s place, possessed by a creature of such malevolent power. Could he handle it with as much grace as Saga manages? Can he even call it grace? He sighs, soft and sweet, closing his eyes, his hand slipping from Saga’s face to twine in his hair.  
  
Saga will be gone when he wakes, he knows. He’s attuned his senses incredibly well to the moods, the approaches, and the departures the evil makes. Long blond hairs will be left in his hand, on his pillows, and that will be token enough for Aphrodite.


	33. Siren Sorento & Kraken Isaac: “I’d kill for a coffee… literally.”

Isaac grumbles to himself as he sets up the coffee maker, cursing whichever idiot had taken the last cup and then not made a new pot. His head ached from a lack of caffeine. It had probably been Kaasa, he’s always doing shit like this. No respect in that one.  
  
Heavy, dragging footsteps echo down the hall, until Sorento enters the kitchen, staring into nothingness. He looks extremely frazzled, and for a moment, Isaac can’t think why. Then he thinks about the roster, and how Sorento has the morning shift watching over the brat- their Lord’s vessel. Who isn’t a brat, obviously. Self-entitled little shit with a silver spoon. Not that he ever thinks anything bad about his Lord, or his Lord’s vessel. Obviously. That kid needs a good lesson in humility, or at the very least for someone to tell him fucking no for once.  
  
Sorento stares at him, dead-eyed.  
  
“I’d kill for a coffee… literally.” Isaac shivers at Sorento’s flat, lifeless voice.  
  
“That bad? It’ll only be a few minutes.” He pulls down a second mug. “I think Kaasa or somebody forgot to make a new pot.” He shrugs. Sorento makes a noise like a gently deflating balloon and slumps into a chair at the table. Isaac pours him the first cup, throwing in a bit of milk, how Sorento likes it,and delivers the cup to Sorento’s needy hands. Sorento makes an absolutely filthy little happy noise, and sips, luxuriating in caffeinated bliss. Isaac himself hates coffee, but it does get the job done. Sorento actually likes it.  
  
“Want to talk about it?” Isaac asks, idly curious as he puts more sugar and milk into his coffee than is strictly healthy. Sorento eyes him judgmentally.   
  
“I don’t think it would be half as bad if he wasn’t so pretty. I’d be able to ignore more of the entitled bullshit he spouts.” Sorento sighs, exhausted. Isaac winces.  
  
“That’s fair. I guess he is pretty. You’re prettier, though.” He says without thinking, and Sorento looks up, blushing.  
  
“Really? You think so?” He asks, clearly thrilled. Isaac flushes.  
  
“Maybe?” He grumbles, and Sorento just smiles.


	34. Virgo Shaka & Pisces Aphrodite: “You can only suffer through so much of my whining before you make me a sandwich.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in the universe of Taste Your Beating Heart, my supernatural creatures AU. Shaka and Aphrodite are both snake shapeshifters.

Shaka sighs, annoyed. Aphrodite bats his eyelashes, chin propped up on his arms at the edge of the couch, his long, white coils draping over the cushions artfully.  
  
“No, get it yourself.” Shaka tells Aphrodite short-temperedly, measuring whole spices into a pot. Aphrodite widens his eyes, blinking innocently.  
  
“But you’re already up. and in the kitchen.” Aphrodite points out. Shaka shoots him a dirty look, lifting himself up a little higher with his golden coils to reach down the looseleaf tea.  
  
“I’m busy.” Shaka says, measuring out the black tea.  
  
“Surely not too busy. You’re almost done with that part, I know you are.” Aphrodite smiles craftily.  
  
“You can do it yourself.” He reiterates. Aphrodite pouts, examining his manicure, the delicate blush polish still at the stage where it can be easily smudged.   
  
“You can only suffer through so much of my whining before you make me a sandwich.” He says confidently, batting his eyelashes again when Shaka glares at him over his shoulder.   
  
“I’m not buying it,” he says, pouring water over his spices and tea, turning the stove on, giving it all a quick stir. Aphrodite sighs dramatically.  
  
“Don’t you love me? My nail polish is still soft.” Shaka groans, glaring at Aphrodite, before finally obliging him, throwing together a quick couple of sandwiches, banging it down on the table next to Aphrodite with bad temper. Aphrodite smiles warmly, wiggling his fingers in a mocking little wave. Shaka slithers back away to tend his chai without acknowledging him. Aphrodite doesn’t care, pleased by the outcome. He eats, satisfied, and accepts the hot cup of chai Shaka brings over quite happily. Shaka takes over the other half of the couch, their coils mingling in a pile in the middle.  
  
“Anything good on tv?” Shaka asks, picking up the remote and turning it on. Aphrodite shrugs, inhaling the tea deeply. It’s wonderful, spicy and milky and hot.  
  
“No idea. This is lovely, thank you,” he murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still open for requests at oopsbirdficced at tumblr!


	35. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo: “Tell me you need me.”

“Tell me you need me.” Milo says dryly, watching Camus butcher beets at his kitchen countertop. Camus tosses a glare over his shoulder. He is half  _French._  He’s  _got this_. French people are  _known_ for being able to cook. Or, well, stereotyped. It’s a stereotype he wants to live up to, though. Even if he only lived in France very briefly before his mother could no longer handle the emotional strain of trying to raise him, and sent him to live with her mother in Russia instead. Even if he considers himself more Russian than French anyway.  
  
He  _can_ cook.  
  
…  
  
…one thing. But one thing counts as a thing! Even if it is just borscht. In all its varied permutations.  
  
Hey, at least he’s getting his vegetables. Which is good, because he always either undercooks meat or burns it. He eyes the cabinet he keeps the vodka in. He can hear Milo judging him.  
  
“What’s the point in me visiting if you cook, Camus?” Milo asks, and now he directs a wounded look at him. He winces. “Okay, bad word choice. I’d visit you regardless, even though you choose to live in a frozen hellscape.”   
  
 _Rude._  It’s the middle of summer, it isn’t even below freezing outside.  
  
“But my point is, you can’t live off of beets alone. When was the last time you had meat?” Milo looks pitying.  
  
“I visited Baba Sasha last Thursday and she gave me leftovers that lasted me three days.” He says with wounded pride. They were good leftovers. He loves his grandmother so much. Even if she and her two best friends, Baba Masha and Baba Katya, are always clucking. He’s  _fifteen,_  that’s  _adult._    
  
Milo nods, occupied in brushing Camus’s dogs. He had thought that the task would keep Milo occupied enough to save him from the Scorpio Saint’s gentle disapproval of his culinary skills. After all, Camus has six dogs, all of them Samoyeds. That’s a lot of fur that needs brushing. Not that he would trade his beloved sled team for anything. He raised them from puppies, they’re his  _babies._    
  
“So you haven’t had meat in three days? Since today is Thursday.” he says, and Camus calculates it in his head.  
  
“Yes?” he says warily, eyeing his boyfriend.   
  
“Do you know how many calories a Gold Saint burns through in a day, with just a regular training regimen? More than you’re getting, Camus.  _Protein._  It’s your  _friend._ ” Milo says, with the longsuffering air of one who has gone through this argument too many times. Camus flushes blotchily.  
  
“I’m trying to be a good host,” he mutters to the beets. Milo stands, briefly abandoning his sacred duty, to his dogs’ vocal displeasure, and hugs Camus from behind. Camus hastily puts down his knife.   
  
“I know you are. Which is why I’ll eat your borscht tonight. But tomorrow we’re going into town for groceries, and I’m cooking for the rest of the month. Deal?” Milo asks, and Camus nods, sighing softly. Milo kisses his cheek, returning to the dogs. “Your borscht is really good, Camus. I mean it.” He says, a balm against the truths he’s spoken. Camus smiles fondly down at his beets.  
  
“I’m glad you like it.”


	36. Gemini Saga/Aries Mû: "I had a bad dream again."

Saga slumps at the kitchen table, clutching a cup of tea. He’s shivering- he can’t stop. It’s the middle of the night, in the dim shadows he can read the clock- two-thirty AM. Nightmares have shaken him awake again.  
  
He doesn’t know why he’s alive. It’s been a year since they took down Loki in Asgard, and they had all thought they’d return to death. But they didn’t. They hadn’t.  
  
Living is hard. Making amends, even harder. Saga sometimes can’t think beyond the throbbing ache of guilt. Half the time he can’t even bear to look at Aiolos. At Shura. At all the people he hurt so badly. Even if he couldn’t control his actions, even if they had been the actions of a puppet master who controlled his body like a blunt instrument.  
  
He still wishes he’d done more. Still wonders why they’re alive at all. Not the others, that’s wrong. They deserve second chances.   
  
Why is  _Saga_ still alive among them.   
  
His cup creaks warningly. He’s gripping it too tightly. He consciously relaxes his hands. A sound catches his attention, a soft, sleepy yawn and soft footsteps, quiet by habit.  
  
“Saga? Are you alright?” A slim, warm hand on his shoulder, comfort. Another strange development. Saga had been dying anyway, despite their resurrection, his Cosmo too shredded to sustain his life- the being that had possessed him had not been careful. When Master Dohko had told them that there was a way to save his life, that if someone tied their Cosmo to his, that would sustain him until his Cosmo could regenerate, he’d thought he would die. He had wronged them all too badly.  
  
But Mû had volunteered. Mû had stood steadfast and refused to let him die.  
  
“I had a bad dream again,” he whispers, raspy and vulnerable. He cringes at his own words- bad dream, what is he, Kiki’s age? Mû hums and gently rubs the back of his neck.  
  
“Come sleep with me, then,” Mû’s voice is warm and sleepy. Lovely. Soothing. He takes the cup from Saga, dumps out the now-cold brew and rinses the cup, before taking Saga’s hands and drawing him to his feet, leading him to Mû’s bedroom. Saga holds Mû as they lie in bed, thoughts soft and dizzy.   
  
“Thank you,” he whispers into Mû’s soft hair, caught up in a braid for sleeping. A small hand pats his cheek, and a soft mouth presses a kiss to the corner of his own, after Mû twists around in his grip.  
  
“It’s not a problem,” he whispers back, and Saga sleeps, deep and exhausted.


	37. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo: “How could I ever forget about you?”

Milo yawns softly, snuggling up to his bedmate. It’s cold, which is dreadful, but it’s warm under the heap of blankets Milo’s piled on Camus’s narrow bed. A soft noise greets his ears, distressed and small, and he pries his eyes open reluctantly.   
  
Camus seems to be having a nightmare. Milo strokes his chest with a gentle hand.  
  
“It’s all right, beloved. Just a nightmare. Come on, wake up, Camus. Easy does it, sweetheart…” he talks softly to Camus until his pretty eyes flutter open. He groans softly.  
  
“Milo?” his voice sounds terribly vulnerable, and it makes Milo’s chest ache.   
  
“I’m here, Camus. You’re all right. You’re in bed, in your tiny house in Siberia. The boys are downstairs, asleep. The dogs are also downstairs, asleep. Though honestly, I’d love it if they were up here, it’s cold. The fire may have gone out.” Milo says, a soothing stream of facts. Camus smiles lightly.  
  
“I can go check,” he murmurs, and slips out of bed. Milo pouts, burrowing a bit more. He really does wish the house had a proper staircase instead of a ladder to get to the loft. Then he, too, could be covered in six fluffy Samoyeds. They’d do wonders for body heat, unlike Camus, who runs cold.  
  
Feet creak on the ladder again, and Camus slips back under the enormous pile of blankets. Milo shivers and slides away with a squeak.   
  
“Cold!” He whines, and Camus laughs at him softly.   
  
“You were right, the fire wouldn’t have made it until the morning. I put more logs on, so we should be fine now.” Camus whispers, and Milo wiggles a bit closer to kiss his cheek.  
  
“Thank you,” he murmurs, stroking his arm. “What were you dreaming of? If you want to talk about it. I understand if you don’t.” Milo asks, yawning softly.  
  
“I- I dreamt everyone forgot me. Baba Sasha, cousin Mikhail, Isaac and Hyôga, Baba Masha and Baba Katya, my dogs. Even Mama. Even… you.” He mumbles, and Milo tucks himself close to Camus, kissing him gently.   
  
“How could I ever forget about you?” He asks softly. “Darling, sweetheart, my treasure, my Antares.” He kisses Camus between each endearment. Camus presses close, and the kisses turn sweet and lingering.   
  
“I love you Milo.” Camus says softly, and Milo pulls him into a tight hug.   
  
“I love you too, Camus. I’m not going anywhere, so sleep.” He promises.


	38. Sagittarius Sisyphus/Capricorn El Cid: "I need a place to stay."

When he sees Sisyphus, he looks tired. It’s their weekly sparring match, and Sisyphus is moving alarmingly slowly, sluggish and clearly exhausted. He’s been gone for a few months, for some mission or another, and Cid calls halt, actually worried about his friend.  
  
“What happened, on your mission? You’re exhausted, Sisyphus.” He asks, scowling. It’s not like Sisyphus to not take the appropriate time to physically recuperate from his missions.  
  
“It’s hard to explain,” he smiles weakly. Cid tries to recall what the mission had been. Something about investigating the death of his brother, wasn’t it? More a personal mission than anything else.  
  
“Well, you’re not in any condition to actually spar, so you may as well start talking,” he replies obstinately. Sisyphus hesitates, and Cid almost relents, but Sisyphus breaks first. It’s a halting, awful story. Rasgado had been sent out to find and bring back Leo Ilias, but had returned with failure, telling Sisyphus with evident grief that not only had Ilias died to Wyvern Rhadamanthys, but that he had had a very small son, who had likely also perished, as Rasgado had searched for him and not been able to find him. How Sisyphus had petitioned the Grand Master to go try to find his nephew, despite having just barely returned from his years-long mission to find Lady Athena.   
  
How, almost a full year after Ilias’s death, Sisyphus actually found his nephew, and with him, the Leo Cloth.  
  
How Sisyphus is now trying to raise his six-year-old nephew. A nephew who still doesn’t quite trust him. A skittish little boy, by Sisyphus’s account.  
  
“If you’re determined to keep him-”  
  
“Of course I’m going to keep him, Cid, he’s my nephew!” Sisyphus interrupts, sounding scandalized.  
  
“It sounds like you need some time to adjust. To… bond.” He looks slightly pained, and Sisyphus smiles reflexively. “You should take him somewhere, for a while. After your mission success, I’m sure Master Sage will grant it.”  
  
“Well then,” Sisyphus is beaming, and he’s so beautiful Cid doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he consigns himself to composing more sappy, stupid poetry for when he next sends a letter to Maria. His older sister thinks it’s hilarious, anyway. “I need a place to stay. I’ll have to check with Regulus.” Sisyphus is so happy, so cheerful that Cid almost says he’s welcome to stay at his family home in Spain, before he stays his tongue. Cid is the middle sibling of six, and several of his siblings are married with children already. Not to mention the aunts, uncles, and cousins of varying degrees. Not the best place for a skittish six year old, most likely.   
  
“Have fun,” he says instead, and Sisyphus hugs him before skipping off to meet with the Grand Master.


	39. Pisces Aphrodite/Capricorn Shura/Cancer Deathmask: "You're covered in flour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute holiday fluff incoming

Aphrodite swears in Swedish and sneezes. Shura sighs softly, rolling his eyes subtly at the way Aphrodite is now covered in fine white powder.

“Are you sure we have to sift the flour?” Aphrodite asks grouchily, and Shura nods.

“It will make for a fluffier cookie.” He says, before gently pushing Aphrodite out of the way and taking the softer from him. “You’re jerking it around too much, that’s why the flour is puffing out like that. Be gentler.” He explains, using the sifter much more deftly. Aphrodite glares at the innocent piece of kitchen equipment.

“I can cook,” he feels the need to defend himself. Shura smiles at him absently.

“I’ve seen you cook. You barely use a recipe, and usually alter it if you do. Baking requires precision, or you’ll end up with a hot mess. Like you are right now.” He jokes, giving Aphrodite a bit of a wink. Aphrodite rolls his eyes and smacks Shura’s ass, leaving a perfect flour handprint on his well-fitted dark jeans. Shura shoots him a wry look. “Not in the kitchen, Mephisto would murder us on general principle.” He admonishes. Aphrodite pouts, batting his long eyelashes.

“I’m back!”

“Ah shit, speak of the devil,” Shura cusses, glancing over at Aphrodite, who looks caught between panic and irritation. “I thought he was supposed to be gone for more than an hour?”

“He was! I don’t know what happened!” Aphrodite hisses, and Shura returns to sifting together the dry ingredients.

“Mephisto!” Aphrodite chirps as the Cancer Saint enters the kitchen. “What happened? I thought you were supposed to be gone for quite a while?”

“I was, but it got rescheduled- you’re covered in flour.” He says, stopping short. “What the hell happened to you?” He asks in bewilderment. Aphrodite pouts again.

“I may have had a disagreement with the sifter.” He says.

“And why are you- oh. What are you making?” Mephisto asks, catching sight of Shura at last.

“Ah, well. We wanted to bake you some cookies, because it’s the winter holidays, and you’re always baking for us. We wanted to treat you.” Aphrodite sighs. Shura smiles over his shoulder.

“We had intended to have them all done by the time you were back,” he adds. Mephisto smiles warmly at them both, a rare sight for most. He leans up and kisses Aphrodite, and then shuffles over to kiss Shura.

“You have a flour handprint on your ass.” He informs Shura.

“I figured as much. Sit down, relax. Aphrodite, get back over here and help me. We can still do this even if we can’t surprise him any more.” Shura says, and Aphrodite flounces back over to help, even as Mephisto boosts himself up onto the countertop to watch.


	40. Cancer Deathmask & Draco Shiryû: "You're covered in flour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll admit, this was a tough one! I’ve never written this dynamic with these two characters. Good challenge, hope you like it! Also, have a canon-divergent AU, utilizing my personal headcanon that Deathmask/Mephisto was possessed by a demon, and that Saga was possessed by Ares, God of War! Also I can never remember when Shiryû is supposed to be blind and not? So he can see in this. The KFC and strawberry shortcake thing is a real thing they do in Japan, fun fact!

Shiryû pauses at the door of the Cancer Palace living quarters, reflecting. He honestly never thought he’d be comfortable around the Cancer Saint, even with his role in removing the demon possessing him. When Deathmask had flung them both into the Praesepe, it had revealed itself somehow to him as the demon it was, parasitically feeding off of the real Cancer Saint, Mephisto.

With the help of the Cancer Cloth, Shiryû had been able to drive the demon out, and he and Mephisto had killed it, before racing against time to stop the other Gold Saints without killing them. They had all been under the brainwashing influence of the God of Conquest- Ares’s- power, amplifying all of their most negative traits, until that oilslick was stripped from their Cosmos. Ares himself had possessed the Gemini Saint, and it had nearly killed the man to get the invading God out of him and out of Sanctuary.

Now Shiryû has a very strange friendship with the Cancer Saint. As though the still abrasive, somewhat awkward, foul-mouthed man considers him a younger brother in need of guidance. He had invited Shiryû over for an early morning workout, and Shiryû had accepted, though he still isn’t sure why. Apparently early morning, in Mephisto’s parlance, means before the sun has even risen, though, because that’s when Shiryû had received an extremely startling telepathic wake-up call.

He knocks, and the door creaks open creepily. Even though Cancer has been exorcised and purified, the fact that the living quarters of all of the Zodiac Palaces are apparently semi-psychic pocket dimensions freaks him out. He goes in, looking around for Mephisto, leaning his umbrella in the entryway, the winter rain coming down hard outside.

“Kitchen!” He calls, and Shiryû peers in.

“You’re covered in flour,” he observes, bewildered. The Cancer Saint glances up, eyebrow raised, before putting the lump of dough he was just kneading into a mixing bowl and covering it with a kitchen towel.

“That happens when you make bread, yes.” Mephisto agrees, somewhat sarcastically as he cleans up. Shiryû sighs slightly.

“I didn’t know you could bake.” He tries instead, an idea coming to mind. Mephisto hangs up his floury apron, wearing workout clothes beneath.

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me, kiddo.” He jibes back, and Shiryû can’t resist rolling his eyes. It’s disrespectful, which grates at his nerves, but Mephisto seems to take joy in getting him to be disrespectful. It goes against everything Rôshi taught him, but the part of him that’s still just a thirteen year old boy thrills at it.

“Ah yes, you’re full of mystery.” Shiryû mutters. “Are we exercising, then, or not?” He asks more loudly. Mephisto nods.

“Jogging laps up and down the hill. I want to see how your stamina is.” He orders, and Shiryû wilts a bit, braiding his hair quickly.

“It’s raining,” he mutters, not quite whining. Mephisto raises an eyebrow.

“Does it look like I give a shit? Get moving, kiddo, or I’ll start getting inventive.”

They run, and it’s moderately awful, but an admittedly good workout, running up and down the stairs in the pouring rain. Once Mephisto is satisfied and Shiryû is exhausted, they go back to Cancer, where Mephisto is kind enough to lend him some clothes and let him use his shower while he puts bread in the over and wet clothes through the washer and dryer. Then he generously feeds Shiryû a bizarrely fantastic breakfast, and makes him drink coffee, of all things. He makes it sweet and milky, calls it a caffelatte. Shiryû discovers not all coffee is horrible.

“Mephisto?” He asks, once he’s down to a piece of bread and butter, and his hunger is mostly sated. Mephisto grunts in acknowledgment. “Will you teach me how to bake? The winter holidays are coming up, and I’d like to give my friends something sweet for Christmas.” He says. Mephisto raises a barely-visible white eyebrow.

“You’re Japanese, thought you’d be Buddhist or Shinto or what the fuck ever. Whatcha doing celebrating fuckin’ Christmas?” He asks, but he hasn’t said no yet. Shiryû shrugs.

“I don’t know, it’s a cultural thing, if I remember right. We used to get KFC and strawberry shortcake.” He replies, trying to recall if they’d ever done anything else. Mephisto looks thoroughly incredulous.

“Oookay then.” He drawls. Shiryû shrugs. He’s not sure why either, he is actually Buddhist. “Okay, kiddo, I’ll do you one better. I’ll teach you how to and help you make actually good fried chicken and strawberry shortcake for Christmas, for all your little friends. But you keep up running with me, okay?” He says, looking weirdly serious. Shiryû contemplates feeling this exhausted every morning, and consoles himself that he’ll probably work up his stamina really fast like this.

“Deal.” He nods sharply.

“I gotta ask, though. Fried chicken and strawberry shortcake?” Mephisto looks genuinely confused.

“I don’t know why. It’s just traditional.” Shiryû shrugs vaguely.

“You’re all bizarre.”

“No weirder than you.”


	41. Pegasus Seiya & Unicorn Jab: “Don’t make me pour my hot chocolate over your head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feat.: nerds who can't admit they're friends without at least three (3) insults.

Jab shivers, pulling the blanket a little tighter around him and sneezing abruptly again. He shivers uncontrollably for a few moments, before he gets his muscles to relax again.

“Hey, plague-rat, brought you some hot chocolate.”

“Your face is a plague-rat,” he croaks back reflexively, even as he takes the oversized mug from Seiya. “Also, you bring people tea when they’re sick, not cocoa, you heathen.” Seiya rolls his eyes, dropping to sit on the opposite end of the couch with his own mug.

“Stop pretending you want tea and be happy with what I’ve brought you from the goodness of my heart, dumbass.” Seiya retorts, sliding into a boneless slouch, mug perched on his stomach. Jab gazes suspiciously at his cocoa.

“If you made this, I’m going to end up at the hospital for real,” he rasps, pulling his face mask off one ear to dangle from the other. Seiya scoots imperceptibly further away.

“Che, you’ll drink it and you’ll like it, plague-boy.” He scoffs, slurping at his own obnoxiously.

“You’re acting as if I didn’t catch this from someone else,” he mutters, taking a cautious sip. It’s hot and fatty and rich, and he’s glad he’s not nauseous, that this is some devil’s headcold and not the flu. It’s really good, but he obviously can’t just tell Seiya that directly. “So, you’ve got Shun hidden in the kitchen, I see.” he says dryly, and Seiya shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“Don’t make me pour my hot chocolate over your head,” he warns, and Jab smirks a bit.

“Can’t have that,” he agrees, and Seiya subsides, before he slyly adds; “Wouldn’t want to waste Shun’s hard work.” Seiya growls at him, and Jab chuckles. That’s a mistake, though, as he devolves into a harsh coughing fit, blindly setting his cocoa down on the side table and grabbing a tissue to cover his mouth. Once he stops, wiping his teary eyes, he registers the fact that Seiya’s actually rubbing his back soothingly. It’s nice, if a bit weird.

“This is why you bring sick people tea with honey, not cocoa made with milk,” he jokes, voice raspy and ragged. He picks up the mug, though, and drinks some more. Seiya smirks back at him, though his warm, ruddy brown eyes are still lit with concern and sympathy.

“All right then, give it here,” he jibes, making an obvious go for Jab’s mug. Jab pulls it close to his chest with both hands, hissing at him.

“Mine.” He asserts firmly. Seiya rolls his eyes, retreating back to his end of the sofa.

“Then don’t whinge about it. I thought you’d like some hot chocolate because it’s December. Hot chocolate is a December thing.” He shrugs, and Jab hides a tiny, gratified smile behind his mug.

“Yeah, whatever. Cocoa doesn’t have a month, dumbass, just a season.” he argues, just for the sake of arguing. Seiya smirks.

“Just shut up already Jab, you sound like you’ve been gargling gravel.” He advises, and Jab subsides.


	42. Aquarius Camus/Scorpio Milo: “So, I didn’t actually get you anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A modern, no-powers AU with pre-established CaMilo, and younger Isaac and Hyôga, who Camus actually adopted! Also forgive me, I tried to do my research, but I might have mucked up Russian Christmas traditions that aren’t super religious. Also, Christmas in Russia is apparently January 7th.

Camus yawns heavily, listing slightly as he waits for the coffee to brew. It’s Christmas morning, and he can barely believe he’s the first person up and awake. Then again, the boys were up far too late giggling to each other. He checks the clock- early yet. He’s already filled Isaac and Hyôga’s stockings full of little gifts from Дед Мороз, mostly candies, but a couple of more boring, useful things.

If anyone had asked him when he was twenty, where he’d see himself in eight years, on the seventh of January, he would not have been able to say. But here he is, the adopted father of a ten year old half-Japanese boy and an eleven year-old half-Finnish boy, with two more languages under his belt and a steady relationship with the prettiest man he’s ever met. They’re going to head back to town after gifts have been exchanged and breakfast eaten, to spend the rest of the day with Camus’s grandmother, Aleksandra, Sasha to family. She had raised both him and his cousin, Mikhail, and he will also be there, with his own family. They’ll exchange the rest of their gifts there.

Camus feeds the eight dogs of his sled team, and tries to figure out what to make for breakfast that he won’t screw up spectacularly. He scritches ears and drinks his coffee, as he dismally thinks about things suitable for Christmas breakfast and things he can actually make, and how these two circles do not overlap.

He’s saved when Milo surfaces, getting his own cup of coffee and taking over the breakfast effort. Once the smell of food starts to fill the air there’s twin thumps and squeals of excitement, and Camus has to go waylay the kids into brushing their teeth and hair and washing their faces before they can come discover what Дед Мороз has given them.

The morning goes surprisingly quickly. The gift opening has to wait until after breakfast, but the contents of their stockings is enough to content Hyôga and Isaac until the appointed time. Camus also gets them to help him brush the dogs, eight big, fluffy samoyeds. Two of the team is relatively new, introduced to the little pack when Camus realized that his sled team of six was a bit small for the size of his family.

Finally (according to the children), breakfast is done, and the gifts are parceled out. The children tear through the wrapping paper in shrieks of glee. Camus distributes new rawhides to each of his dogs, and their noises of joy rival the kids’.

He gives a small package to Milo, hoping he’ll like it. He does, cooing over the neat leatherwork of a new belt and a matching little leather backpack, handmade by Camus. Camus is a little disheartened when Milo doesn’t produce a return gift. His boyfriend actually looks very sheepish.

“So, I didn’t actually get you anything.” He murmurs, and Camus struggles against the breathless hurt and disappointment warring in his chest, trying to smile it off.

“That’s all right, Milo. I don’t need anything.” He assures his boyfriend, and accepts a kiss.

They pack up and head out, and spend a wonderful day with Baba Sasha, Cousin Misha, and their collective families. He only remembers when it’s gift-giving time again. Milo looks strangely nervous, when everyone has finished opening all their presents.

“Hey, Camus? Remember how I said I didn’t get you anything?” he asks softly, and Camus nods, puzzled. “I lied. Here.” He presses a little box into Camus’s hand, and he looks down, heart skipping a beat. It’s small, square, and hinged. Like a jewelry box. He opens it, heart in his throat. A simple gold ring winks up at him, and he looks back up at Milo with wide eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Camus. Will you marry me?” He asks, and the room falls silent at that exact moment, unplanned. Someone squeals softly, and he sees Baba Sasha wiping tears from her soft, wrinkled cheeks, beaming with happiness.

“Yes,” he whispers softly, a touch choked up. The room erupts into cheering as Milo takes the ring and slips it onto his finger. Camus kisses him, and he’s crying a little too.


	43. Gemini Saga/Aries Mû:  “Wait, no one got you anything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another modern, non-powered AU!

Mû lingers on the fringes of the gathering, feeling small and out of place. He’s never met these people, and his shyness is getting the better of him. He’d been a last minute addition to the guest list, and now he’s wishing he’d insisted that he’d be fine at home, without his boyfriend, Saga.

Christmas Eve is apparently a big deal, though, and he’d scrambled to get a gift for the little gift exchange. Stupidly, apparently, because there’s no gift with his name on it on the little table, even though Saga had assured him he’d make sure he was properly put in the pool. He doesn’t even celebrate this holiday, why is he here? Will Saga even notice if he slips out? He seems very involved in something his twin brother is telling him, the brown-haired man that’s apparently an amicable ex laughing beside him.

Mû slips out onto the balcony, relaxing in the wet chill of Mediterranean winter. Nothing like winter in the Tibetan mountains, where he’d grown up. Where the cold is sharp enough to steal the breath and drive icy knives into the lungs. Someone is already here, though, bundled into a thick coat and smoking a cigarette. Mû looks at the slim blond man, his long hair braided like Mû’s own, to avoid tangling in the wet wind.

He stubs out the cigarette in a can by his feet and turns. His eyes are very blue, and his skin is brown, which surprises Mû. That’s silly though, he should be used to unusual hair colors. He’s brown himself, with bleached white hair and pale, ghostly grey eyes.

“Ah, hello. Saga’s boyfriend, right?” The blond reaches out a gloved hand for a shake, and Mû shakes it quickly, smiling slightly.

“Mû,” he says softly, because he has a name, dammit. The blond nods.

“Shaka,” he replies in kind. “What are you doing out here? It’s cold.” He says, indicating Mû’s lack of a coat.

“This isn’t cold. I’m from Jamil- it’s a little town in the Tibetan mountains.” he explains, and Shaka nods in comprehension. “And I just needed some fresh air. To be honest, I’m not even sure why I’m here, I’m Buddhist.” He sighs. Shaka smiles faintly.

“What a coincidence, so am I.” He offers lightly, and the door slides open again behind Mû. He glances over his shoulder and feels a bit guilty when it’s Saga, looking worried.

“Mû, there you are. I’m sorry I got caught up with Kanon and Aiolos, are you okay?” He asks softly, and Shaka slips past them, back into the warmth of the party. Mû sighs softly, pressing close to Saga and accepting the kiss he presses to Mû’s lips.

“Why did you want me to come, Saga? It was so last minute, and I don’t even celebrate.” He asks, relishing in Saga’s warmth, tucking in close. Saga folds his arms around him.

“It was part because you looked so sad when Kiki had to cancel your plans for tonight.” He admits, and Mû smiles wryly. His little brother had canceled last week because his girlfriend had invited him and their boyfriend to meet her parents at Christmas Eve dinner. “And another part was- it’s the first time I be actually seen Aiolos since you and I got together. It's… selfish, and dumb. I wanted to show you off a bit, and here I am ignoring you. I’m sorry Mû. We can cut out early.” He’s flushed and embarrassed, but Mû us just glad for the explanation.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pushing up onto his tiptoes to kiss Saga, who reciprocates, warm and slow. “Though whoever was in charge of the gift exchange screwed up anyway.”

“Wait, no one got you anything?” Saga asks, looking mildly outraged. Mû presses a cold, small hand to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Saga.” he murmurs, and allows it when Saga ushers him back in with a warm arm around his shoulders. He’s still feeling awkward and shy, but he’s bolstered by the knowledge that there’s someone else here in exactly the same boat as him, and by Saga’s explanation and the arm over his shoulders. Saga heads over for Kanon, who Mû’s met before, and they start talking in that weird twin language of theirs. Mû looks around from the safety of Saga’s arm, and nods to Shaka, who’s apparently here as the brown haired ex- as Aiolos’s brother’s date.

“I can get you something on the way home,” Saga finally says, as Kanon scowls in the direction of the gift table. Mû laughs softly.

“Not necessary, darling. I don’t even celebrate this holiday,” he reminds him gently. Saga still looks mildly put out, and Mû snuggles into his side. “I promise. I was just feeling out of sorts because you were ignoring me. But now it’s taken care of. Let’s mingle,” he says softly. Saga sighs and capitulates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm still taking holiday themed prompts on my fic tumblr, oopsbirdficced! Anon is open if you don't have an account or are too shy or what have you!


	44. Aquarius Dégel/Gemini Defteros: “You’re kind of cute when you look like Rudolph.” - “The reindeer?” - “No, my dentist. Yes, the reindeer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By necessity, this is a modern AU. Sorry it’s short!

When Dégel sees Defteros, he’s standing outside the restaurant they’d agreed upon for their tentative first date. His breath puffs out from over his scarf in a cloud of crystalline vapor, and Dégel pauses for a moment to admire his old friend.

Defteros is tall and broad, and, as Kardia says, built like a brick shithouse. Right now his lines are softened by the thigh-length double-breasted black wool coat he wears, and the soft pile of the cranberry-colored knit scarf around his neck. His long, wavy hair - a black so dark it looks blue in the right light - is bound in a ponytail at the nape of his neck and falls all the way down to his hips. His hands are tucked into his pockets and his head is tipped up to the sky, watching the snow drift lazily down.

“Defteros!” Dégel finally calls, and he turns, his fine, brown features tinted red with the cold. He’s not nearly as bad as Dégel himself surely is, but he can’t resist making a gentle quip.

“You’re kind of cute when you look like Rudolph.” He says, reaching up to tap Defteros’s reddened nose with a black leather glove-clad finger.

“The reindeer?” Defteros asks, blinking his stupidly long, sooty eyelashes. His voice is deep and rich, and sometimes Dégel really wishes his friend spoke more just so he could listen.

“No, my dentist. Yes, the reindeer.” He says without thinking- more a thing he’d say to Kardia than Defteros, usually. He bites his lip slightly. Why is he so off his game right now? Defteros blinks, and looks a touch wounded.

“Dégel, that wasn’t kind of you.” He says softly, and Dégrl winces, pushing up his glasses.

“I don’t see how a man of your size and stature can look so much like a kicked puppy. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just feeling… nervous. I hate being nervous.” Dégel admits, and Defteros favors him with a small, easy smile, curling an arm around Dégel’s waist.

“Come on, then,” he murmurs, drawing Dégel into the warmth of the restaurant. Dégel’s glasses immediately fog up, but Defteros presses an honest-to-god handkerchief into his hands to wipe them off.

“You’re so old-fashioned sometimes, Defteros,” he laughs softly. Defteros favors him with another of those sweet, private smiles as the waiter leads them to a table. Defteros takes off his coat, same as Dégel, and he’s wearing a thick, cable-knit sweater of soft sapphire blue. It looks lovely on him, and Dégel is so used to seeing him shirtless at the gym it’s astounding to realize he even wears shirts. Which is dumb.

“You look really nice,” Defteros says softly, and Dégel glances down at himself. Close-cut dove-grey trousers and a crisp white button-down, with a soft lilac sweater over it.

“So do you,” he says, and those dark charcoal jeans of his define his thighs in ways Dégel refuses to think about too hard in public.

“See, no reason to be nervous, Dégel. Let’s just have a nice evening.” Defteros tells him, and he relaxes almost in spite of himself.


	45. Pisces Aphrodite & Scorpio Milo: “It’s snowing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like Milo and Aphrodite as the bitchiest friends! These two gossips. Also please don’t look up trench foot. I did so you wouldn’t have to.

“It’s snowing!” Milo bursts into the greenhouses of Pisces apple-cheeked and beaming. Aphrodite looks up from his re-potting to glance out the window, unimpressed. Winter in Greece is a wet, rainy affair. Nothing like a proper winter in Sweden or Greenland.

“That’s not snow, it’s sleet. Won’t stick.” He evaluates, and Milo rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically.

“Gods on Olympus, ‘Dite. We are in  _Greece._  That is  _snow._ ” He flails a hand in the direction of the windows. “It’s winter! And it’s snowing!” Aphrodite gives him an unimpressed look.

“Winter doesn’t happen in Greece. We’ve discussed this, Milo. Winter happens in other places, but not in Greece.” He said with a longsuffering air. Milo groans softly, flopping down on the strategically-placed fainting couch.

“Not this again, just let me have my fun.” He whines. Aphrodite raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“You have not seen winter, precious child of the sun.” He begins dramatically, and Milo moans, covering his face with one hand. “You have not seen winter until you have been snowed in for weeks on end. You have not seen winter until your eyelashes have frozen shut from the tears brought on by the relentless, stinging wind. You haven’t seen winter until you’ve had to power the generator with your own Cosmo to prevent from freezing to death. You haven’t seen winter until you’ve had to shovel six feet of snow away from your door just to get more firewood.” He props one gloved hand on his hip.

“I get the picture,” Milo groans, but Aphrodite isn’t do he yet, a wicked little smirk touching his lips.

“You haven’t seen winter until you’ve had icicles of your own snot dripping from your nose.” He says wickedly, and Milo squeals in disgust. “You haven’t seen winter until you’re bundled in enough layers that you can’t even walk properly, but have to waddle. You haven’t seen winter until you realize that even the slightest amount of wetness on your feet means you’ve been sentenced to trench foot.” Milo shrieks in distress, and Aphrodite finally relents.

“You haven’t seen winter, oh child of the Mediterranean.” he says, stripping off his gardening gloves and patting Milo’s head. “Let’s just leave it at that.”


	46. Taurus Aldebaran: "Not on Christmas."

“Not on Christmas!” Aldebaran bellowed, hands on his hips. Shura and Mephisto stopped guiltily, exchanging confused glances. Had they been doing anything weird? Shura thought they’d just been pretty normal. Mephisto raised his hand almost timidly.

“Uh, what were we doing?” He asked, and Aldebaran eyed them slightly incredulously.

“What you always do: fight. I’m sick of it.” Aldebaran rumbled, and Shura was forced to suddenly remember just how big his childhood friend had gotten through the years.

“Ah, we weren’t fighting.” Shura said anyways, because he had a startling lack of self preservation skills. Mephisto nodded vigorously. Aldebaran looked unimpressed.

“Yes you were. You were verbally abusing each other, like you always do. This is my house, my Christmas party, and I’m telling you to stop.” He growled. Shura had forgotten that Aldebaran had a temper at all, it was so slow to stoke.

“But- we weren’t fighting! We were just talking!” Mephisto protested.

“You were fighting. You were calling each other all sorts of filthy names.” Aldebaran asserted sternly.

“Well, yeah…” Mephisto looked briefly flummoxed. “That’s what we do, though. We trashtalk each other and give each other shit. It doesn’t mean we’re fighting, though.”

“Their relationship is based off of good natured insults and screaming their fool heads off at football games on the television,” Aphrodite opined drowsily from where he’s sunk into an armchair, mostly just visible by the hair. He was drunk, or maybe just tired. He and Camus had been exchanging shots of something clear that smelled like it could be used to strip rust. Aldebaran still looked highly skeptical.

“If you say so. But tone it down, at the very least.” He requested, and they said they’d try.


	47. Pisces Aphrodite/Cancer Deathmask: “Are you sure it’s illegal to kill carolers?”

“Are you sure it’s illegal to kill carolers?” Mephisto’s voice is muffled where he lies face down on Aphrodite’s lap, sprawled over the couch Aphrodite has tucked himself neatly onto the end of, with a book and a bottle of red wine. Aphrodite strokes his fingers through Mephisto’s fine white curls, massaging his scalp.

“Unfortunately manslaughter is still illegal, even if you have a migraine and they are off key.” Aphrodite replies, mouth twisted in sympathy. He eyes the door of the cabin, swearing silently to himself that he’s never booking a cabin at this resort ever again. A proper Swedish winter complete with skiing is not worth terrible carolers who might yet breach their sanctum. Mephisto groans pitifully.

“Want me to read to you? Or would that make it worse?” Aphrodite asks with a level of gentleness he only shows in private, with the people he cares for. Mephisto whines softly.

“No, just keep petting,” he mutters, nuzzling Aphrodite’s thigh. Aphrodite quietly acquiesces, and soon enough Mephisto’s short, lean body goes slack in sleep. Aphrodite reads a while longer, until the off-key sounds of the carolers have faded away, and the hearth burns deep red with coals. He sets his book aside and finishes off his bottle, enjoying the dry, spiced red.

Mephisto is small and vulnerable and pretty like this, and Aphrodite takes a certain selfish, capricious joy in being the only person to see him like this. He knows he’s not a good person by any stretch of the imagination, but here, like this, he can forget the desires of other people and just be.

Presently he gently shifts Mephisto’s head from his lap and takes the empty bottle to the garbage and his wine glass to the sink. He brushes his teeth, uses the toilet, and changes into one of his many soft, silky, skimpy nightgowns. He turns down the covers, and then returns to scoop Mephisto up into his arms, gently carrying him off to bed.

He wakes his lover enough to coax him out of his jeans and his sweater, tucking him in and curling around him under the covers.


	48. Griffin Minos & Garuda Aiacos: “That’s not how Santa Claus works…”

Minos was developing a sudden, debilitating headache. There, in his office, his sanctum from the general insanity of the rest of the Underworld, Aiacos was… lounging… in his desk chair.

“What are you doing here, Aiacos?” he asked flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Aiacos smiled roguishly.

“Spreading the spirit of the season, Minos.” He looked utterly insufferable. “Like the outfit?” He stood, arms outstretched, and Minos grimaced.

“I had been attempting not to notice it.” He admitted. “I’m still not wholly certain what it’s supposed to be, outside of something you should not be wearing in public.” It was a thoroughly skimpy outfit, a scrap of a skirt in red velvet, the bottom hem trimmed with plush white faux fur. On the top he had a bustier of the same red velvet with decorative white satin buttons lining the front. He had cuffs and a choker of faux fur, and a Santa hat that matched the outfit perfectly. Under the skirt he wore a pair of white silk stockings, and a pair of matched, knee-high high-heeled boots, red trimmed with white faux fur at the top.

“How are you walking in those?” He asked, in lieu of the question he really wanted to ask. Aiacos shrugged lightly.

“Violate taught me?” He offered. Minos frowned.

“I don’t recall ever having seen her wear heels,” he remarked, before sighing. “Very well, I give up. How is this supposed to- what was it, ‘spread the spirit if the season’?” He asked, thoroughly resigned. Aiacos rolled his eyes.

“I’m Santa! Sexy Santa.” He wiggled his eyebrows ridiculously. Minos gently rested his face in his hands.

“That’s not how Santa Claus works…” he said, softly despairing. “Why?” Aiacos laughed- more a cackle than anything.

“You should see your face! I fuckin’ knew this would be worth it!” He choked out, before propping his hands on his knees and practically screaming with laughter.

“Lord Minos, is everything-” Luné leaned in with a perfunctory knock on the doorframe, before his eyes landed on Aiacos. He promptly looked as though he had bitten into a lemon, backing back out. “Never mind.” He muttered.

“Wait, Luné. I’ll accompany you. It’s been awhile since I did an overview of the Halls of Judgement.” He said abruptly, turning on his heel and marching out of the office.

“As you say, Milord,” Luné murmured softly.

“All right! Now to get Rhadamanthys!” Aiacos cackled behind them, running off down the hallway. Minos took a very brief moment to reluctantly admire the fact that not only could Aiacos walk in three-inch heels, he could also run in them. “Oh yeah! Merry Christmas, asshole!” Aiacos performed an impressive hairpin turn, pulled a wrapped gift from the bag he was also carrying, matched to the outfit, and chucked it at Minos’s head. Minis caught it, as much as he would have loved to just dodge it.

“This better not be a practical joke,” he muttered, inspecting the gift.


	49. Gemini Saga/Sagittarius Aiolos: “You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”

Saga hummed softly as he puttered around Gemini, picking the place up and decorating quietly. It almost seemed too quiet, in Kanon’s absence, but his little brother was off on a holiday with his new spouse. After years of celebrating together, Saga hadn’t begrudged him some time alone with his love.

It just meant a quiet Christmas, as Kanon was the one who was really into celebrating. He had a small chicken and some fixings, and the gifts Kanon had given him before he’d left, as well as gifts from everyone else in Sanctuary who celebrated or observed the holiday.

It would be a good day. He went to bed, contented and pleased.

It was still early on Christmas morning, and Saga was face first in his second cup of coffee, before he registered the fact that he wasn’t alone. He looked up blearily, and realized Aiolos was presiding over the stove, cooking something. He was talking too, a low stream of chatter that began to actually filter through his brain.

“Aiolos?” He muttered, confused. A soft yawn beside him drew his attention to the subject of Aiolos’s soft conversation, and he saw Aiolia, still pajama-clad, like Aiolos. “Aiolia?” He mumbled in bewilderment. He took a moment to check and see if he was wearing pants- he was, and Aiolos must have coaxed him into them when he was still mostly asleep, because he’d gone to bed in the nude, as usual.

“You’re finally awake!” Aiolos said brightly, leaning over the table to kiss him good morning, even with his inevitable black coffee breath. Aiolia cheered softly, before making an obligatory noise of disgust over kissing at the breakfast table. “We’re opening presents after breakfast, is that good with you?” He asked brightly. “I would have asked you earlier, but I’m pretty sure you were sleepwalking when you let us in.”

“I- yes.” Saga said, still vaguely bewildered. Aiolos seemed to catch on to his confusion, because he frowned just a bit.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” He asked gently, and Saga flushed.

“I didn’t want to intrude,” he protested lamely. Aiolia rolled his eyes.

“Now I’m worried we’re the ones intruding, silly.” Aiolos did indeed look concerned. Saga relaxed, smiling warmly.

“No, never. I’m glad you two could be here.” He assured Aiolos warmly. “What are you making?”

Today would be an excellent day, it seemed. Aiolos told him the morning menu, and assured Saga that they’d brought over enough dishes to pad out his small chicken.

The morning passed by jubilantly enough that he barely had time to miss Kanon, which he knew Kanon would be glad for. The rest if the day followed suit, even if Aiolia kept being silly and dramatic every time he and Aiolos kissed.


	50. Capricorn Shura & Cancer Deathmask: “Ho ho ho, bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mephisto is the name I use for Deathmask! Also, my Deathmask is short, because canonical heights are made of bullshit. Fight me.

Mephisto breezed into the Capricorn living quarters after Shura gave him permission, dropping a large, heavy sack directly on his stomach where he was stretched out on the couch, theoretically watching a football match. Shura wheezed, winded.

“What the fuck, Mephisto, you ass.” He coughed.

“Ho ho ho, bitch.” Mephisto said, deadpan, from where he was perched, almost like a vulture, on the back of the sofa. Shura had no idea how he was keeping his balance. Then again, he really wasn’t sure how Mephisto worked in general, someone that short should not contain the sheer levels of sass and rage that Mephisto carried.

Shura eyed the sack resting on his stomach with a healthy amount of trepidation.

“It isn’t something living that’s going to bite my face off, right?” He checked. Mephisto rolled his red eyes expressively.

“Dumbass, if I was gonna give you a living thing for the express purpose of biting off your face, I’d clearly give it to you in a box, not a bag.” He explained condescendingly. Shura was not comforted, but he did open the bag, sitting up a bit.

Frowning, he drew out six bottles of nice Italian wine, several Tupperware boxes of different cookies and fudge, a bottle of limoncello, and a bottle of sambuca.

“Did you buy out some sort of alcohol store?” He asked dryly, opening a container that declared itself rum-walnut fudge. “Also please tell me you remembered my peanut allergy.”

“I did, I did. Buckle up, buttercup. We’re getting shitfaced for Christmas. And eating our weight in sweets. And then, if you’re very lucky, I’ll drag you down to Cancer and feed you a proper dinner.” Mephisto slid bonelessly to sit beside Shura, grinning slyly. Shura rolled his eyes at the casual display of the Cancer Saint’s ludicrous flexibility.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. It was thoughtful of Mephisto- he’d been unable to get time off to go see his family in Spain, so Mephisto was, in his own way, keeping him company. Mephisto poked him in the thigh with his toes.

“Go make some coffee, bitch.”


	51. Wyvern Rhadamanthys/Gemini Saga: “Christmas doesn’t have to be about family, ya know?”

Kanon sighed softly, wondering what to do. Saga was busy with his family, as he and Aiolos had adopted a beautiful little baby girl four months ago. He’d been invited to Christmas at theirs, but he knew Saga had problems with Kanon’s boyfriend, Rhadamanthys. Rhadamanthys’s only family was his brother, Minos, and their half-brother Aiacos, and both of them were doing their own thing. He didn’t want Rhadamanthys to be alone, but he also didn’t want his brother to be uncomfortable all Christmas.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Rhadamanthys reached over, tugging at his long blond hair.

“Trying to figure out Christmas plans.” Kanon sighed, flopping over onto Rhadamanthys’s lap. Rhadamanthys shoved his hair aside and slid a hand up the back of his shirt, scratching gently. Kanon snuggled in like an oversized cat- if he could purr, he would be.

“What’s the problem?” Rhadamanthys asked.

“I don’t want you to be alone, but I don’t want Saga to be uncomfortable? I know you’ve been trying, but he’s still all weirded out by that one time you thought he was me.” Kanon muttered. Rhadamanthys’s hand stilled, and he shrugged his shoulders a bit to make him start back up. He was probably cherry-red right now.

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” He hissed through his teeth. “It was one time! And in my defense I’d never met him before, and you just said we’d be meeting your brother, not your twin brother. Asshole.” Rhadamanthys growls, digging his nails in a bit. Kanon bit his lip against a moan,back arching subtly. He liked it when Rhadamanthys got a bit rough.

“I’ll let you live it down when Saga finally gets over it.” Kanon advised. Rhadamanthys huffed softly.

“Kanon?” He asked softly after a few slow moments of silence. Kanon made a soft hum of acknowledgment. “Christmas doesn’t have to be about family, you know?” He asked, pulling his hand free and threading his fingers through the hair close to his scalp, rubbing his head gently instead. Kanon made a noise of confusion. “I’m saying, we could just celebrate like this, with the two of us.” Rhadamanthys sounded soft and fond, and Kanon remembered now that his relationship with his two brothers wasn’t the greatest.

“You’d like that, Rhada?” He asked softly.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. We could visit them briefly on Christmas Eve, if you’d like.” Kanon hummed.

“Yeah, actually, that sounds nice,” he murmurs, sitting up and kissing Rhadamanthys sweetly.


	52. Scorpio Milo/Leo Aiolia: “You’ve never had a New Year’s kiss?”

Aiolia curled up in the corner, watching the party with a soft, contented expression. He only actually knew about half the people at this party, and several of them only knew him as the little brother of the host, but it was still a nice party. Aiolos had insisted that he invite his own friends as well, so he wasn’t completely adrift. Shaka, Aiolia’s best friend was deep in a philosophical debate with one of their childhood friends, Mû.

Aiolia was tipsy, and warm, and there was still half an hour until the countdown, so he people-watched the small crowd contentedly. He was considering going to get another drink, when a warm hand touched his shoulder, and he glanced up.

“Hey, Aiolia. You okay?” Milo asked, looking down at him with a warm, bright smile. Aiolia smiled back. Milo was pretty much everyone’s friend, warm and good natured, even if he could get a little hot tempered.

“Yeah, I was just watching people. And thinking about a refill.” He said, loathe to give up his comfortable perch. Milo grinned.

“What are you drinking? Do you care?” Milo checked, and Aiolia shook his head.

“Just as long as it’s not too strong. I don’t really want to get drunk, you know?” Aiolia requested, and Milo fetched him some of the sweet, fizzy hard cider that Shura had brought, homemade by his grandfather, who owned an apple orchard.

“I love people watching,” Milo murmured conspiratorially, settling in next to Aiolia with his own drink. “Who do you think is going to kiss who at the changeover?” He asked, and Aiolia blinked.

“Well, Saga and Aiolos are a given.” He said, for lack of anything else to say. He wasn’t actually sure any of their friends actually observed that silly little tradition.

“Mmhm, and I know Aphrodite’s torn between kissing Shura first and kissing Mephisto first. I keep telling him he can kiss both of them in a minute, but he’s been fretting about favoritism. It’ll be really funny if they kiss each other first, and then kiss Aphrodite.” Aiolia blinked over at the trio, having been unaware that they were romantically entangled. Then again, those three were Saga’s friends, not his or Aiolos’s, though Aiolos definitely tried to befriend them.

“Mû and Shaka are looking like they’re just going to debate their way through the countdown.” He offered, in lieu of actually replying.

“Ooh, do they like each other? Do you think they just need a little push?” Milo smirked wickedly, and Aiolia caught his wrist as a preemptive measure.

“I don’t know, c’mon.” He said, a touch sheepish. “I said they might ignore the countdown.

“Okay, fine. What about you, then, Aiolia?” Milo asked, and he blinked at him a little dumbfounded.

“Um. I dunno. Same as last year?” he asked a bit uncomfortably. Milo looked expectant, and he sighed softly. “No one? I’ve never- I mean, I’ve kissed people before, but.”

“You’ve never had a New Year’s kiss?” Milo asked softly. Someone whistled, starting the countdown. How had time gone that fast? Aiolia couldn’t look away, even as Milo slowly leaned in closer as they shouted the numbers down.

When they reached one, their lips caught, and Aiolia nearly dropped his cider. He was kissing Milo, warm and soft. He liked it, quite a lot. He’d like to keep kissing Milo. So he did, pressing close, pleased when Milo’s free hand caught the back of his neck to keep him close.

They parted, but only enough to set down their drinks and then kiss again.


	53. Gemini Saga/Sagittarius Aiolos: "What are you doing in my bed?"

“What are you doing in my bed?” Saga asks, warm and muzzy. Aiolos giggles, snuggling closer.

“I’m seducing you. Is it working?” The irrepressible Sagittarius chirps. Saga blinks, trying to think through the thick haze of sleep.

“You’re supposed to be in Argentina right now, aren’t you?” he asks, bewildered, burrowing closer into Aiolos’s warmth. Aiolos begins biting dark little marks into Saga’s chest and he hums in pleasure.

“I got done early, I thought I’d surprise you. Are you surprised?” He murmurs warmly against Saga’s skin. Saga ducks his face and catches Aiolos’s mouth with his, kissing him slowly and thoroughly.

“I am surprised.” He says, a touch breathless. “Back just in time for Valentine’s Day. It’s too late to make any plans, it’s-” he twists around to look at the clock, squinting through the dimness. “Gods on Olympus what the fuck, it’s four in the morning. Aiolos…” he groans, his happiness at seeing Aiolos fading in the face of the grim reality of the time. Aiolos has the grace to look guilty.

“I was excited to see you, I haven’t seen you in a week…” Aiolos whines softly, kissing at Saga’a throat. Saga grumbles softly, closing his eyes and tugging Aiolos closer. He feels Aiolos smile against his skin. “Besides, you’re naked, and warm.” Saga makes a soft grumbly noise.

“You know I sleep in the nude.” Saga points out, sleep slowly dragging him back under. Aiolos chuckles.

“I do,” he acknowledges, and kisses his cheek softly. “Sleep, Saga. We can do things when you wake up.” His tone is very suggestive, and just in case he misses that, Aiolos gropes his ass, squeezing firmly. Saga’s hips buck, but he’s too sleepy to do much else. He buries his face in Aiolos’s neck with a soft sigh, and Aiolos strokes his hair as he falls asleep.


	54. Scorpio Milo/Aquarius Camus (LoS): “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you!”

Milo can’t remember what they’re even arguing about this time. Mû had told her the other day over tea that she is the only one who could rile Camus- a generally passive and quiet man- into ‘screaming fits of passion’ like this.

Honestly she kind of likes it. She doesn’t go searching out fights, but if they disagree on something, it inevitably evolves into this. Camus is honestly lovely like this, his pale skin flushed, his poker face shattered. Sometimes she feels like it’s the only way to get him to react to anything.

Everyone else, on the other hand, at least according to Mû the other day over tea, is thoroughly sick of it. Aldebaran especially looks five seconds from picking them both up by the scruff and shaking them. She should really stop yelling back at him. If only she could remember what they are actually arguing about. Aldebaran finally stands, and she cuts off mid-word.

“Aldebaran?” She asks, wary and a bit hoarse. He shakes his head, looking exasperated.

“Mû spoke to you about this, Milo.” He says in a deeply disappointed tone. “He said he could make you come around. Well, it didn’t work, so now we’re doing it my way.” Milo is constantly amazed at how Aldebaran can sound friendly and menacing at the same time. She takes a step back. It’s useless, though, everyone knows Aldebaran is the fastest of the Gold Saints. Before her foot even touches the ground she’s been lifted into the air and unceremoniously chucked off the balcony. Her outraged shrieks sounds late, as does the yell Camus makes when he’s immediately subjected to the same treatment.

Milo flips over midair and angles herself towards the nearest walkway, using her Cosmo to slow her descent. She touches down with a soft thump, and puts her hands on her hips, glaring back up at Aldebaran.

“Rude!” She yells up at him. Camus huffs as he touches down, barely stirring the dirt. Showoff.

“Are you all right?” Camus asks cooly. “I must assume you are, if you can still insult our comrades. Though really, I still don’t understand why you always single me out for your hateful words.” He looks down his pretty, aristocratic nose at her and she snaps.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you!” Milo yells before she can stop herself. She’s so mortified she barely gets to enjoy his look of complete, befuddled shock. She turns to run, but he catches her arm, swinging her back around and catching her mouth with his, crushing their lips together in a kiss that can only be called brutal. She doesn’t melt, but kisses back fiercely, fire and passion.


	55. Virgo Shaka & Pisces Aphrodite: "You're staring again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tried to do my research here: Shaka’s views of vegetarianism most closely align with Therevada Buddhism. If I’ve made any grievous errors on this front please let me know, so that I can grow as a person and an author. Also it’s pretty much canonical that Shaka is actually a terrible Buddhist, if you look at his actions??? Yeah.
> 
> Also Aphrodite the extremely frustrated beautician.

“You’re staring again.” Shaka says without even opening his eyes. Aphrodite growls softly at him. “I believe the appropriate saying here is ‘take a picture, it will last longer’,” Shaka says, completely unruffled.

“I’m trying to figure out how you managed to grow your hair so long when your hair care regimen is so abysmal.” Aphrodite retorts sharply. Shaka opens an eye, bemused.

“I wash my hair regularly.” He comments, idly curious to see where this is going.

“Yes, but that’s a two-in-one generic, the one Sanctuary distributes basically free so that people who aren’t invested in hygiene don’t stink the place up.” Aphrodite sniffs delicately. Shaka frowns.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. Besides, it was provided to me, and it would be wasteful not to use it.” He says. Aphrodite rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Your hair is brittle, there’s no healthy shine, and I’m pretty sure I can see your split ends from here.” Aphrodite huffs. “So you use what’s provided to you, hm? Do you still use egg and dairy products, or are they against your beliefs?” He inquires. Shaka blinks, a bit puzzled, but willing to educate on his beliefs.

“Well, since I am provided for here, most graciously and generously, I do avoid meat, but it would not be a stain if I did eat meat, if it was offered to me, and if it was from an animal that was not expressly slaughtered on my behalf. Eggs and dairy are a bit more of a gray area, so I do supplement my meals with them, in order to ensure I get the proper nutrients.” Shaka explains. Aphrodite nods, standing up.

“Do you have any shower caps?” He asks, and on seeing Shaka’s blank expression, rolls his eyes. “Of course you don’t. I’ll be right back.” Aphrodite returns momentarily with a box of shower caps, a blender, a bunch of bananas, a couple of hair claws, and a bundle of bottles with handwritten labels. Shaka regards him curiously as he blends up a banana, some milk, egg whites, and coconut oil.

“Okay, Shaka, this goes in your hair.” He declares, and makes Shaka remove his robes. Aphrodite seems almost disappointed when it’s revealed Shaka is wearing undyed linen pants under his saffron-colored robes. Nevertheless, Aphrodite is the picture of efficiency, spreading a towel over his shoulders and practically painting the tropical-smelling mess into his hair. He clips it up with one of the claws and pops a shower cap over it.

“There. Now, in thirty minutes I want you to go wash your hair. Use cold water, or you’ll accidentally cook the egg- not fun at all. Then you can wash it with this shampoo.” He hands Shaka one of the bottles. “Then use this shampoo and this conditioner whenever you wash your hair.” He hands Shaka two more bottles. At least they’re clearly labeled.

“This seems excessive.” Shaka complains mildly. Aphrodite pins him with an unimpressed look, and runs a hand over Shaka’s shoulder, considering. That provokes a reflexive shiver, and Aphrodite smirks, sitting in his lap. Shaka raises an eyebrow.

“You’re using the wrong kinds of soaps, too.” Aphrodite informs him, tracing light, nimble fingers over Shaka’s skin. “Lucky for you I formulate those, too. Whatever you’re using- generic Sanctuary provided, I assume- it’s drying out your skin terribly. It’s likely the cause of these acne spots on your shoulders. So here’s a body soap, and here’s a lotion. Use the lotion after you bathe- everywhere, mind you.” Aphrodite smirks. Shaka sighs, a touch irritated.

“Are you quite done yet?” He asks, solidly repressing any response his traitorous body produces. Aphrodite sighs, a touch wistful.

“I suppose. Remember what I said about cold water!” He sing-songs with a suggestive wink.


	56. Cancer Deathmask/Pisces Aphrodite: “You’re such a fun drunk."

Aphrodite hasn’t laughed this much in ages, he’s in legitimate danger of spilling his drink. Shura had given up a while ago, and is now lying under the coffee table crooning drunken nonsense in Spanish to a cat who wandered in a while ago.

Mephisto, on the other hand- he’s really gotten going. He’s standing atop the same table Shura is under, singing lustily in Italian. Aphrodite isn’t sure, but he thinks it’s an opera- maybe one of Bellini or Rossini’s? Though that doesn’t narrow it down that much.

Mephisto’s singing voice is surprisingly clear and beautiful, an absolutely lovely tenor. Aphrodite admits he’s a little jealous. He’d thought Mephisto’s singing voice would be awful. He’s perfectly on key, and he knows every word to whatever the hell it is he’s singing, comically overacting it. Aphrodite admits, he hadn’t seen the opera thing coming. Mephisto is not a person he usually associates with opera, Italian or otherwise.

Mephisto’s aria- is it still an aria if it’s a tenor singing, and not a soprano? Aphrodite can’t for the life of him remember- comes to a suitably dramatic close, and Aphrodite applauds, still giggling drunkenly. Mephisto bows, over-dramatic, and loses his balance, tumbling headfirst into the couch.

“Are you dead?” Aphrodite asks, poking his side. Mephisto rearranges himself and grins over at him.

“Nah, I’m tougher than that, come on.” He rolls his eyes. Aphrodite starts giggling again.

“I didn’t know you sing so well.” Aphrodite says, curling into Mephisto’s side now that he’s sitting- sprawling- on the couch properly.

“I don’t do it much anymore. Puberty was hard on me- I used to sing the prettiest soprano.” Mephisto sighs, and he sounds genuinely regretful. Aphrodite falls into paroxysms of laughter. He can see it perfectly, tiny grouchy Mephisto trying to hit all those high notes, voice cracking spectacularly right down the middle. Mephisto growls at him and wrestles him into a headlock, and Aphrodite lets him, too paralyzed with laughter to resist.

“Fuckin’ giggly drunk.” Mephisto grouses. Aphrodite’s laughter finally abates and he wrestles his way back out of Mephisto’s grasp.

“You’re such a fun drunk. You tell me all these things you probably don’t actually want me to know.” Aphrodite says gaily. Mephisto rolls his eyes and pulls Aphrodite close, their foreheads resting against each other.

“I could tell you a few things you don’t know,” he purrs softly, and Aphrodite giggles breathlessly.

“But what if I do already know them?” He wants to know.

“If you two are going to start having drunk sex, please let me know so I can leave before I’m scarred for. life.” Shura’s voice floats up from the floor, accent extremely thick. Mephisto jumps, and Aphrodite sulks.

“Merda, I forgot he was here.” Mephisto grumbles.


	57. Andromeda Shun/Cygnus Hyôga: “You can do this, but you can’t return my calls?”

“Hyôga, where are you taking me?” Shun laughs, hands out in front of himself as Hyôga guides him, blindfolded, through Saori’s mansion.

“You’ll see, sweetheart,” Hyôga says, kissing his cheek gently. Shun blushes delicately. He trusts Hyôga with his life and his heart, after all, and he’s excited to see what’s in store for him. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. Their first Valentine’s as an official couple.

They reach what feels like a balcony, the breeze gentle and not brisk at all.

“Okay, here we go,” Hyôga gently removes the blindfold, and Shun blinks, and then gasps softly in surprise and adoration. The French doors of the balcony are open, wispy white curtains stirring in the breeze. The doorway is ringed with white Christmas lights, and the balcony railing is lined with evenly spaced colored glass lanterns, each with a lit candle. He sniffs experimentally- citronella, practical, too, to keep the bugs away. In the middle of the balcony was a table set for two, two metal cloches covering the plates. There’s a bottle of sparkling cider standing in for the wine they’re not quite old enough to drink.

It’s beautiful, like a fairy tale, or like a scene from a romantic movie set in France, just without the picturesque view of the Eiffel Tower, and Shun is thoroughly charmed. He spins and kisses Hyôga’s cheek, just barely suppressing a happy shriek.

“I love it, Hyôga,” He says warmly, and Hyôga smiles, equally pleased.

“I hired Saori’s cook to make us your favorites. There’s also dessert.” He offers, practically glowing with pride. Shun giggles, and Hyôga actually pulls out his chair for him. Shun sits, a mischievous thought catching him.

“You can do this, but you can’t return my calls?” Shun asks playfully, resting a hand on Hyôga’s chest.

“I return your calls, it’s just that your brother always answers and immediately hangs up on me.” Hyôga protests. Shun winces.

“Wait- where is Ikki?” Shun asks a touch nervously, glancing around as if his brother was going to jump out from behind a corner at any second. Hyôga scratches the back of his head.

“Well, Seiya owed me a favor.” He says, grinning cheekily. Shun giggles and leans in, kissing Hyôga’s cheek.

“Well, let’s make the most of this, then,” he says brightly.


	58. Scorpio Kardia/Aquarius Dégel: “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you.”

Dégel sets his book aside, slipping a bookmark between the pages and sips some water. Then he pulls out his pocket watch and takes Kardia’s pulse. He seems to be doing better today, greatly improved from the night before. Dégel feels the effects of his sleepless nights keenly, and rubs his temples. Kardia is soundly asleep, so he feels comfortable folding one of his hands in his and pressing it to his lips.

“I would give the world away for your health, Kardia,” he murmurs, not bitter, but regretful. Sometimes, in the dead of night when Kardia writhes in pain, calling out his name with a desperate need for relief, he thinks he would even freely betray Sanctuary and Athena to Hades for a chance to cure Kardia’s chronic illness. That would only make Kardia hate him, though, as he’s entirely devoted- almost like a child in his faith- to Athena.

Dégel stays like that, listing into a hazy doze by accident. He’s so tired he doesn’t even mark when Kardia stirs, turning his head on his pillow to watch him. He’s usually more careful with his affections, but he’s exhausted, having just come off a mission to find Kardia in the grips of one of his deadly fevers. Dégel’s greatcoat, vest, and tie have long since been abandoned, and his shirt is unbuttoned at the throat, exposing more of his collarbones than he’s usually okay with. His sleeves are sloppily rolled up to the elbow, and his hair is gathered into a high tail, strands falling down around his tired face.

Dégel usually tries to be more put-together before Kardia awakens lucid. He doesn’t want Kardia to know how deeply his illness affects him- Kardia doesn’t need that extra burden of worry.

“You look like I’m dying. Was it that bad?” Kardia’s voice is rough and whispery, broken from screaming and crying in pain. Dégel jerks up from his fitful doze, eyes wide and glasses askew.

“What? No!” He says, heart beating fast from surprise. “Kardia! You’re awake!” He becomes suddenly, acutely aware of just how disheveled he really is. “You’re fine. Your fever went down about- ah, five hours ago. I just haven’t had the chance to beaten up, you- it was a bad one,” to his horror his voice cracks slightly, and Kardia looks incredibly worried, trying to push himself up on his elbow. “No, stay like that. If you want to be upright let me fix your pillows,” he scolds softly. A few minutes later Kardia is propped up on the pillows, and Dégel grabs his water, freezing it into a slush that’s easier for Kardia to manage than regular liquid water.

“Here,” he says, voice soft and tender, as he holds the cup to Kardia’s mouth. Kardia’s hand wraps shakily over his, and Kardia gets a mouthful of slush, sighing in relief as it soothes his dry, aching throat.

“I’m sorry, Dégel. You look exhausted.” Kardia mutters, eyes fixed on the coverlet. Dégel sighs, deeply regretting not neatening up before Kardia woke.

“It’s no trouble,” he tries to reassure Kardia, carefully helping him with another mouthful of slush.

“It clearly is. You look… terrible.” Kardia points out, a closed-off expression Dégel has learned to read as guilt locking his expressive face down. Dégel shakes his head, biting the inside of his lip to keep his chin from trembling.

“It’s worth it. To keep you alive.” Dégel mutters. Kardia turns his face away. He’s usually upbeat about the woke thing, but coming off an episode like this, it’s rough on him. His quirky brand of reckless optimism sometimes takes a while to come back.

“Is it?” Kardia’s words are barely audible, but Dégel’s hands are shaking now, his eyes burning. He hastily sets down the glass.

“Yes, it is.” He says, soft and fierce. Kardia looks back at him, surprised. “It’s always worth it, Kardia. Always.” He promises. Kardia looks slightly uncomfortable.

“What day is it,” he asks instead, a clear bid to change the topic.

“Saint Valentine’s Day.” Dégel informs him dryly. Kardia looks even more uncomfortable. “I wrote you a letter,” Dégel says, before he can stop himself. He’s written Kardia Valentines’ letters for years now, though he’s never given him any of them, too shy to contemplate it. It’s exhaustion that makes him admit it now, and he feels himself blush hotly.

“What- why?” Kardia looks achingly confused.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you.” Dégel says, aching and wretched, dropping his gaze to the coverlet, tired and shy and hurting. Kardia makes a soft strangled noise, and catches Dégel’s hand, holding it as tightly as fever-weak muscles will allow.

“Dégel,” his name is more a sob in Kardia’s mouth, and he looks up, horrified to see Kardia crying.

“Oh gods, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” he chokes, words tripping over themselves. Kardia shakes his head, weakly pulling him closer.

“No, I mean, I love you too, Dégel.” He rasps out, and pulls him shakily close for a kiss, salt-flavored, but still the sweetest thing Dégel has ever tasted.


	59. Athena Saori & Pegasus Seiya: “You’re not going out in that outfit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set during the 90s, btw, when they’re all in their late teens/early twenties. And you know what the 90s mean? Fuckin neons.

Saori yawns, shuffling out of the Palace of Athena in her hot pink sweatpants, orange flip-flops, and a neon blue sweatshirt that might actually belong to Geki, it’s so big on her. It probably is his, she has a habit of stealing the boys’ clothes. She starts down the hill, pulling her hair into two sloppy Sailor Moon buns on her head.

Seiya comes out of Sagittarius as she passes, and waves, quickly catching up to her. She sighs, mildly annoyed.

“Good morning, Saori!” He chirps energetically, and she slouches further into her stolen sweatshirt, the collar sliding down one shoulder to expose her neon yellow and orange bra strap. She doesn’t bother pulling it back up.

“Morning, Seiya,” she grumbles around a yawn. Seiya is such a damned morning person. It’s disgusting.

“Where are you headed?” He chirps, blithely unconcerned by her lack of enthusiasm.

“Athens. Breakfast.” She replies. She has an appointment with a pair of Silver Saints, and she thinks she’s coming down with a cold. She no longer currently gives a fuck. Seiya catches her arm and spins her around, grasping her shoulders and looking her dead in the eye. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Saori. Athena. I have great respect for you, you’ve grown up really well from the spoiled brat you used to be, you know that right?” He asks extremely seriously.

“Was that a compliment or an insult?” She wonders mildly. He ignores her.

“I also consider you a dear friend, Saori. That’s why I’m gonna say this:” he takes a deep breath. “You’re not going out in that outfit.” He hisses. “You look like you just rolled out of bed!”

“I did.” She says calmly, and barely brings up her arm in time to sneeze into the crook of her elbow three times in quick succession. Seiya reels back quickly, a bit over-dramatic, and she rolls watery eyes at him.

“Are you sick?” He asks suspiciously. She shrugs.

“Maybe? I’m definitely on my period.” She says, just to make him squirm. It’s true though. Why Athena incarnate is human enough to even have a menstrual cycle, and get sick for that matter, she really would like to know. Unfortunately, her all-knowing divine half chalks it up to being human at all. It sucks.

“I gotta go!” Seiya sprints away, leaving her in peace, and she smirks, continuing her steady pace.


	60. Scorpio Kardia/Cancer Manigoldo: “I’m going to regret this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a broken arm.

Kardia giggles, reaching up to pluck another apple. Manigoldo shifts his grip on the other boy’s calves, trying to keep him steady where he’s sitting on Manigoldo’s shoulders while not dropping the basket of apples.

“We’re gonna get caught,” He predicts dourly, lifting up the basket for Kardia. “Why are you suddenly obsessed with apples anyway?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“You won’t drop me,” Kardia says with blithe confidence. “And Dégel says they’re good for me. Also, have you tasted them? This orchard has the sweetest, best apples.” Manigoldo feels a familiar bitter jealousy twist up in his chest. He hadn’t known Dégel was the reason they were scrumping apples. He kind of wishes he’d said he was busy.

“Oh, well if Dégel says so,” he mutters, snide and sarcastic. It isn’t fair, he muses sullenly. How is he supposed to compete with the Aquarius teenager? Dégel can do the mystical blood cooling thing and help Kardia. Whenever Kardia gets sick the most Manigoldo can do is stay away, everyone says so. After Kardia’s better Manigoldo can sometimes help him out, but Kardia’s so independent he barely needs him. It makes Manigoldo feel useless and bitter.

“Hey, I bet I know how we can get to the best apples, Kardia,” he says, boxing all of his angry jealousy away. “Come on, get down.” He crouches, and Kardia slips down off his shoulders. “Do you know how to climb trees?” He asks, and Kardia shakes his head no, blue eyes big. “Well, come on, I’ll teach you,” he says, trying not to puff up too obviously.

A few minutes later finds them secure in the branches of the tree. Kardia is clinging with one hand on Manigoldo’s arm, clearly excited, but a little unsteady still. He can’t stop giggling.

“You’re gonna give us away if you keep that up.” Manigoldo says, making sure his perch is secure before slipping a sly arm around Kardia’s waist.

“Wait until I tell Dégel!” Kardia giggles, and Manigoldo can’t help the way his face falls into something grouchy and sour, and can’t look away in time either. Kardia sees it this time, and his smile falters. “Mani?” He asks hesitantly, and Manigoldo tries to cudgel his expression back into careless happiness. Kardia isn’t fooled. “Mani, do you hate Dégel?” Kardia looks troubled.

“I- I don’t hate him.” Manigoldo hedges.

“But you don’t like him, either.” Kardia says dolefully.

“He keeps you alive and healthy, I like that part,” Manigoldo grumbles, feeling trapped. Kardia frowns heavily at him. “I’m goning to regret this,” he hisses under his breath before trying to sort out his thoughts. “I don’t hate him, but sometimes I feel like he’s all you talk about. Like he’s the most important person in the world to you.” He sighs, dropping his head to Kardia’s shoulder. “It makes me feel kind of second best. I can’t even help you when you’re like that,” he grits his teeth, pushing away the burning in his eyes. “It makes me feel useless. Helpless.” Kardia wraps his arms around Manigoldo’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I- I didn’t know,” he mutters miserably, and Manigoldo curses himself internally.

“You shouldn’t apologize! It’s not your fault. I’m just being… stupid.” He hugs back tightly, lifting his head. Kardia’s right there, suddenly, and Manigoldo moves without his own permission, screaming at himself in his head, and clumsily kisses Kardia. Kardia freezes against him, and Manigoldo’s heart drops. He pulls away, for a moment forgetting where they are, and loses his balance. They fall from the tree, Manigoldo wrapping himself around Kardia so that the other teenager is mostly spared the impact. He flails out with one hand, trying to brace them or catch them, and something makes a horrifying cracking snap. They hit the ground, and Manigoldo wonders what broke, a tree branch, maybe? He’s winded, and it takes him a minute to reorient himself. Kardia shifts off him, looking unhurt if incredibly worried.

“Gods Manigoldo, your  _arm,_ ” he squeaks, looking sick. Manigoldo looks over, and for a minute his brain won’t process what he’s seeing. He registers the fact that his arm really shouldn’t be bent like that at the same time as white hot pain roars through him, making him crumple into a ball,biting his lip. He had learned when his town had been sacked not to make noise when he’s in pain. Kardia on the other hand is making soft panicky noises. Manigoldo ignores the pain enough to take his sash off.

“Make me a sling, Kardia. Tie it around the back of my neck and move my arm into it, gently. I might pass out for a bit, but I’ll be okay.” He says, and braces himself. He doesn’t pass out, but it’s a damn near thing. He heaves himself up, good arm around Kardia’s shoulder, and looks at Kardia’s basket of apples at the foot of the tree. “You should grab your apples,” he says inanely. Kardia looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“ _Damn_ my apples, I have to get you to the healers’ division!” Kardia argues. Manigoldo blinks, confused, and walks when Kardia does.

“But they’re Dégel’s apples.” He says, beginning to suspect he’s in shock. He gets terribly inane when he’s in shock.

“Damn Dégel, I have to take care of  _you_ right now.” Kardia says fiercely. A happy, slow warmth spreads through Manigoldo. “And- maybe when you’re not acting so silly we can talk about that kiss.” Kardia says hesitantly, and Manigoldo nods, leaning heavily against him.

“Okay.”


	61. Pisces Aphrodite/Cancer Deathmask: “Please don’t do this to me.”

“Gods on Olympus!” Aphrodite swears as his vest lights up. Mephisto cackles merrily, darting off into the black-lit maze to get someone else. Aphrodite hides, furious, and when his vest resets, he creeps through the maze, hearing Shura’s yell as Mephisto (probably) gets him too. Mephisto is unfairly good at laser tag. But Aphrodite has a plan, now. He just needs to figure out where his boyfriend is right now. He sees Shura, and ducks around an obstacle, keeping low to the ground.

He sees a flash of motion- there is Mephisto, lurking, ready to get Shura again. Shura is remarkably bad at laser tag, worse than Aphrodite. Aphrodite sights along his gun, and fires, darting in to grab Mephisto as his boyfriend’s vest lights up and he curses.

“Turnabout is fair play, sweetheart,” Aphrodite purrs, pulling them both down. Mephisto frowns.

“You’re supposed to run for it, what the hell, Aphrodite,” he hisses. Aphrodite smiles, and darts in for an absolutely filthy, distracting kiss. As he’s kissing him, he lines up his next shot, pulling away just as Mephisto’s vest beeps, light turning back to blue from its angry red. He smirks, and sees the instant it dawns on Mephisto.

“Please don’t do this to me.” He mutters, but Aphrodite shoots him point-blank anyway, making his vest light up red again. Then and only then does Aphrodite dart away, licking his lips and listening to the silver tones of his boyfriend quietly cussing him out. All’s fair in love and laser tag.


	62. Pisces Aphrodite/Cancer Deathmask: “God dammit, why do you always have this effect on me?!”

Mephisto growls lowly at Aphrodite, pinning the taller Saint against the wall. Aphrodite looks far too smug, and it’s pissing him off. Or making him aroused, he’s not actually sure which.

“You shut up! I could fuck you if I wanted to!” He hisses at his lover. Aphrodite looks smug.

“Are you entirely certain, dear, sweet Mephisto? You haven’t so far in our… dalliance. You seem to take fantastic pleasure in getting fucked, actually.” Aphrodite draws a perfectly manicured fingernail down Mephisto’s throat, and he shudders, skin prickling with gooseflesh.

“Sh-shut up,” he says, and it comes out far breathier than he intended. Aphrodite smirks, and uses his greater height to reverse their positions, pinning Mephisto to the wall instead. He sucks in a shaky breath- why had they been fighting again? Had they been fighting, or had he overreacted? Aphrodite kisses him, pushing a leg between Mephisto’s and pinning his hands above him, slim, pretty hands like shackles around his wrists. When Aphrodite finally lets him up for air he’s panting, definitely aroused.

“You know that Shura thinks you’re the receiving partner, right?” He says anyway, because sometimes his brain is extremely one track. Aphrodite rolls his eyes.

“The whole idea of having a dedicated receiving partner and a dedicated giving partner is outdated and passé, you know.” He huffs. “Just because I enjoy fashion and gardening and pretty things doesn’t make me a passive sex partner. This is stupid.” Mephisto blinks, confused.

“But you just said I couldn’t top.” He points out. Aphrodite pecks him on the nose, looking indulgent.

“No, I said you didn’t want to. Unless my intuition is wrong? Well, think about it seriously, darling boy. Do you want to top?” Aphrodite slides his hands around to grope Mephisto’s ass firmly, and he moans.

“I- not really. I mean, I could try. We probably should try at some point, but right now? No,” he mutters, a touch ashamed. “God dammit, why do you always have this effect on me?!” He growls, and Aphrodite looks concerned, tipping his chin up with gentle fingers and kissing him, soft and sweet.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, Mephisto. I know society deems it less manly or some other bullshit, but that’s not true here, at all. You don’t have to be in rigorous control, it’s okay to be vulnerable, Mephisto. And I’m honored that you trust me with your vulnerability. I should have told you before now.” Aphrodite holds him close, and Mephisto buries his face in the Pisces Saint’s shoulder, embarrassed and comforted in equal measures.

“Okay,” he mutters against Aphrodite’s shirt.


	63. Mizar Zeta Syd/Odin Lyfia: “I’m carrying your child.”

Lyfia collapses into a chair, hands trembling. How can this have happened? Everything has been happening so fast, she’s barely been able to keep up with it. First Asgard had been attacked- thought they’d struck first, she’s come to understand- and a full half of the God Warriors had died, including her boyfriend. Then, only a few months later, Andreas had happened.

Now she’s the Voice of Odin, replacing Lady Hilda in the highest office in Asgard. A ladies’ maid, now elevated to nobility! It’s enough to make her head spin. Hilda has taken back up her post as the Polaris God Warrior, and tells Lyfia once she’s a hundred percent healthy again, she’ll be taking up post as Lyfia’s bodyguard.

Lady Hilda is truly Odin-sent, keeping herself and Lady Freya between Lyfia and those angry about her sudden elevation in status. Additionally, all three of them have been working nonstop coordinating both the relief effort and the rebuilding of Asgard’s capital city. Fróði and Sigmund have also been invaluable, but being around them is harder than being around Hilda and Freya.

And now… this news has to be the hardest to bear. She’d thought herself sick, maybe from overwork, but the doctor says she’s over four months pregnant. She can’t quite believe it- she’s not even showing! The timing fits,though, and she has to struggle to breathe.

Hilda comes in looking exultant, a bundle of papers in her arms, but her happiness fades fast in the face of Lyfia’s obvious distress. She sets her papers down on a table and kneels next to Lyfia’s chair, catching her shaking, small hands in her warm, fight-callused ones.

“Lyfia what’s wrong?” Hilda asks softly, and Lyfia’s chest hitches in a sob. “You went to the doctor, right?” She’s looking increasingly worried, and it occurs to Lyfia that Hilda might this she’s dying or something.

“I- I’m pregnant.” She says in a raspy little voice, and then bursts into tears for real. Hilda immediately draws her into a hug, humming an obscure lullaby, until Lyfia has cried herself out. Freya arrives at some point, sitting on the arm of the chair and rubbing Lyfia’s back gently. They let Lyfia get cleaned up and splash water on her face, Hilda quietly telling Freya what Lyfia’s outburst had been about while she does so.

“Do you know who the father is?” Freya asks gently once Lyfia’s returned.

“Was it consensual?” Hilda asks a bit more grimly. Freya shoots her sister a gently reproving look.

“Yes, we were together- dating. But he’s- he’s dead.” She bites her lip, breathing deeply. “Syd. Mizar Zeta Syd was the father.” She says, hands twisting together in her lap, face flushed. Freya looks deeply sympathetic, a hand reaching out to squeeze Lyfia’s shoulder. Hilda looks- oddly happy? She stands, collecting her papers, and brings them over.

“He’s not dead. I just received word from his brother, Alcor Zeta Bud, that he pulled through and survived the fight with the Saints after all. They’re on their way back now that they’re fully recovered, they should actually be here today, hopefully.” Hilda looks quite happy. They’re travel papers, among others, including a letter to Hilda, mistakenly still addressing her as the Voice of Odin.

“B-brother? I didn’t know he had a brother,” she murmurs, not quite believing it.

“Their family were strong traditionalists, unfortunately. Bud was given to a servant to raise, because they were twins.” The set of Hilda’s mouth speaks volumes on her opinion of that particular bit of outdated, ignored law. No one follows those anymore, what on earth had possessed Syd’s parents? “When Bud came to me I granted him training and he earned his God Robe. He requested to stay on the sidelines, and I allowed it.” Hilda shrugs, and Lyfia nods slowly. The God Warriors have always been a strange mix of nobility and commoner. A knock comes at the door, and Freya goes to answer it.

“Lyfia! Are you okay?” Her head jerks up in surprise and she stares at Syd, looking a bit unhealthy and skinny, utterly lost and confused, trying not to cry again. He does have a twin, and they’re identical. That’s going to be confusing,” she thinks inanely

“Lady Lyfia, Voice of Odin, Mizar Zeta Syd and Alcor Zeta Bud request audience,” Hilda says stiffly formal, her way of notifying the two of her elevated status. Syd gapes, obviously shocked.

“Syd,” she murmurs, reaching for him. Freya, blessings upon her, shoos Bud and Hilda away and out the door. Lyfia stands and practically collapses into Syd’s arms, confused and overwhelmed. Syd guides them to sit in a nearby couch, holding her tightly. “I thought you died, Syd,” she murmurs, so emotionally tired she’s reached a calm plateau.

“I’m so sorry, Lyfia.” He murmurs. “Bud thought for a while there I had died, so when he got me actual medical attention it took me a long time to heal.” She nods, snuggling close.

“No letter?” She asks, a touch sadly.

“Bud, for all he’s apparently been stalking me most of my life, didn’t know we were together. Or he thought it wasn’t serious, I’m not sure which.” Syd kisses her head in unspoken apology. Lyfia nods.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She says, hesitating. Should she tell him? “Ah, Syd?” She asks quietly. He hums inquiringly. “I’m carrying your child,” she says in a whisper, unsure how he’ll take the news.

“What- Lyfia?” He sounds bewildered.

“I’m pregnant, Syd. Over four months.” Gods, they’re both still so young, they’re both barely nineteen. What are they going to do? What is she going to do, if he rejects her?”

“Oh Lyfia.” He squeezes her gently. “Do you want to keep the baby?” He asks gently.

“I think so? I only found out myself a few hours ago.” She says softly.

“I’ll be here for you, Lyfia. Whatever you choose.” Syd swears, and she believes him, relaxing into his embrace.

**Author's Note:**

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